The Parthian

Chapter 6

Nola was systematically emptied of anything and everything that was of value. This included weapons, gold, silver, food, sandals, boots, tents and tools. Castus and Spartacus had obviously spent much time thinking about the hoard that the town might yield, for the Germans quickly organised themselves into search parties to scour it from one end to the other for things the army needed, while other groups guarded the captured garrison — three hundred downcast men. And the Germans were very thorough. Their task was made easier by the layout of Nola, which was essentially a large rectangle divided up into a network of streets around square blocks of buildings. I later discovered that there were thirty-two such blocks, each one the same size. The Romans were certainly precise when it came to their town planning. Four gates gave access to the town, one at each point of the compass, and Castus placed guards at all of them to ensure no one escaped. Unfortunately, the garrison commander and several of the town’s leading citizens had managed to flee on horseback via the eastern gate before it had been sealed.

The town’s population was roughly herded into the centre of Nola, to a place called the forum. Castus informed me that all Roman towns and cities had such a place, and they were always located in the centre. It was a large, open square surrounded by temples, government buildings and shops. The town’s residents were divided into three groups: men, women and children, and its slave population. As the day wore on the forum became increasingly crowded as Castus’ men entered houses and dragged out their occupants. A few resisted and were killed, but most trudged sullenly into the forum. I also noticed, strangely, that the slaves also looked unhappy.

Castus had brought two thousand men to Nola, a thousand of whom now stood guard over the population. The garrison had been disarmed and locked in the town’s jail. I had sent my men on foot with a party of Germans to look for horses, and was delighted when they reported back that they had acquired two hundred and a corresponding amount of riding equipment. Around midday Spartacus went over to the group of town slaves and talked to them. He was there a long time, and as I stood beside Castus on the steps of the temple to a god called Saturn, I asked him how many would join us.

He shook his head. ‘A handful, if any.’

‘Surely not?’

‘Town slaves have it good. Nice clothes, light duties, even a chance of freedom and Roman citizenship if they are lucky. You might be unlucky and get a bastard of a master who keeps you cleaning the latrines, but generally slaves who live in the towns are well looked after. They have to be. If you’re a Roman, you don’t want to go to sleep at night knowing there’s a slave in your house that hates you.

‘That being the case, why would you want to throw in your lot with a load of country slaves? Besides, town slaves are soft. Mainly Greeks and pretty young boys from Africa who are dressed in nice clothes and taught to recite poetry. Can’t train them to use a sword.’ He spat on the steps. ‘Next to useless.’

Castus was right. Spartacus returned to us with his head down. He sat down on the steps.

‘A grand total of twenty. Well, the others will be joining their masters on the road.’ He jerked a finger at the few volunteers who were being separated from the rest, while the great mass of people was being moved from the forum down one of the town’s main streets.

‘One of them belongs to your people, Pacorus, said he could ride.’

My ears pricked up at this, and without saying a word I walked briskly over to the group of freed slaves. Around me wailing women and weeping children were being forcibly removed from the forum. Their menfolk had started to protest, but a few cracked skulls courtesy of German spear shafts disabused them of the notion that they had any say in the matter. One middle-aged man in a richly decorated toga refused to move, standing rock-like at the front of the crowd. All eyes were upon him as a burly, hairy German strolled over to him and pointed at the road along which his kinsmen were trudging. He did not move, but glared at the German with ill-disguised disgust then spat on him. I blinked in disbelief as the German grasped his spear with both hands, thrust it clean through the man, and then lifted him off the ground with his muscled arms. The Roman writhed like a stuck pig for a few seconds, and then expired. The corpse was thrown to the ground and the German withdrew his bloody spear, then stood and smiled at any Roman that caught his eye. There were no more protests after that.

I stood in front of the slightly nervous freed slaves.

‘Which one of you is a Parthian?’ I asked in my mother tongue.

A tall, lean man in his late forties stepped forward. He had short-cropped hair, olive skin and brown eyes. He was dressed in a light grey tunic with a brown leather belt at his waist and good-quality leather sandals on his feet. He looked strong and well fed; perhaps Castus was right about city slaves. He stood in front of me, eyeing me as much as I was studying him.

‘I knew you were Parthians the moment I clasped eyes on you. The long hair, the way you sat in the saddle. Though my Parthian is a little rusty after so long a guest of the Romans’ He extended his hand. ‘My name is Godarz and many years ago I was once in the Silvan army under Prince Vistaspa, though doubtless he is dead and his name means nothing to you.’

I felt a surge of emotion course through my body. To hear another talk of someone I knew from my homeland made my heart soar. I grabbed him with both arms and embraced him warmly, which surprised him somewhat.

‘I am Pacorus, son of King Varaz of Hatra and the man you speak of is my father’s friend and the commander of his bodyguard. He not only lives, but thrives and is reckoned one the finest warriors in the Parthian Empire.’

There were tears in his eyes as I explained to him how fate had brought me to Italy to fight by the side of Spartacus, and how I hoped to get back to Hatra. One day. He laughed.

‘We all have that hope, highness, but for most of us it remains only a distant dream.’

I pulled him aside. ‘You don’t have to call me highness, Godarz.’ I nodded towards the figure of Spartacus sat on the temple steps. ‘He doesn’t approve of titles.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ he replied. ‘So that’s Spartacus, is it? Well, he looks fearsome enough.’

‘And he has a brain, too,’ I said. ‘It was his plan that captured this town.’

Godarz contemplated for a moment. ‘Then the Romans have a problem, for they have difficulties conceiving of a slave who can think for himself. I knew he must have some ability when the town wasn’t burnt.’

It took three hours before the citizens and their slaves were ejected from Nola, a long, sad line of humanity making their way out of the east gates towards? I knew not.

‘Who cares?’ remarked Castus as we stood on the wall watching them go.

I must admit I felt pangs of guilt about the plight of the women and children, some of whom might perish if their journey was long and arduous. That night we shut the gates, posted guards on the walls and made ourselves at home in Nola’s finest houses. We Parthians slept at the house that had been the property of Godarz’s master, a beautiful abode in the wealthy northern area of the town. The house was built around an inner courtyard that was open to the sky, with more rooms at the back arranged around a garden that was surrounded by a covered walkway. The garden itself was well tended (no doubt by slaves) where herbs and fruit trees were growing, plus flowers and shrubs. The rooms of the house had pictures painted on the walls that depicted mythical beasts that had the bodies of lions and wings. In some rooms there were scenes of horses, and Godarz informed me that his master had bred horses for a hobby.

‘That’s how I came to be here. In truth he was good to me,’ said Godarz, eating a grape as we relaxed on plush couches in the dining room. ‘And he loved his horses. I’ll show you them tomorrow, the stables back onto the house.’

That was the first time in weeks that I slept in a bed, and when I awoke the next morning I thought at first that I was back in Hatra. But the grunts and shouts of Germans brought me back to reality. I dressed and joined my men in the kitchen, where twenty Parthians were eagerly feasting on porridge, bread, cheese and fruit. Godarz had risen early in preparation for our departure.

‘I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping on the ground from now on,’ I said, breaking off a piece of cheese.

‘At least I will be free,’ he replied, cheerfully.

We had tethered our horses in the courtyard for the night, and they had used the opportunity to eat many of the flowers and plants. Godarz asked me to follow him into the street, which was filled with dirty looking Germans driving heavily laden carts towards the forum. The two- and four-wheeled carts were piled high with anything that might be of use to us: cooking utensils, garden tools, kitchen implements, anything and everything. The carts were pulled by pairs of mules, some of which were proving reluctant to obey their new masters. Ill-tempered Germans beat the beasts and cursed them as Godarz led me to the rear of his master’s walled house and into another walled area, through high iron gates and across a wide courtyard. On the other side was a large white-walled stable block with red roof tiles. I followed him into the stables and was amazed at their luxurious layout. They would not have been out of place in Hatra’s royal stables. Each of the stables had half-doors leading onto the central alley and grills between stalls to allow horses the feeling of space. And inside every stall was a hayrack and water tub. The stables were clean and airy and had a wonderful smell of horseflesh that reminded me of home.

‘You tend these stables on your own?’ I asked him.

‘No, highness,’ he turned away from me. ‘You can come out now.’

From the far end of the block five figures emerged, all dressed like Godarz, though all were younger than he, men in their late teens or early twenties.

‘They have been hiding here. They were fearful of the Germans and expected to be captured, but your arrival saved them. ‘ He cast me a glance. ‘At least for the time being.’

‘It’s quite safe,’ I shouted at them. ‘You will not be harmed.’

They shuffled towards us with heads bowed.

‘Thank you, highness,’ said Godarz. ‘Let me show you the horses.’

The horses were immaculate and were a credit to their carers. The last stall held a beast of rare beauty, a white stallion with blue eyes. I stared in wonder at him, admiring his muscular shoulders, thick neck and erect head. He stood proud and looked directly into my eyes.

‘He’s of Carthaginian stock. My master called him Remus,’ said Godarz.

‘An odd name,’ I replied.

‘Remus was one of the twins who founded Rome many centuries ago, or so I was told. He should be yours, highness, for he has a haughty and stubborn nature and he requires a true horse lord to tame him.’

I extended my hand slowly to Remus and stroked the side of his head. He seemed to like it.

‘We must leave this place,’ I said. ‘You told Spartacus that you would join him?’

‘Yes, highness.’

‘What about these other men?’ I asked Godarz.

‘I speak for them also.’

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We will take these horses with us. We leave at once.’

I looked at Remus. ‘And you, my fine friend, will be my horse from now on.’

Godarz and the stable hands rode behind us, leading the spare horses as we made our way back to the forum, which was now choked with wagons and carts of every description, each waiting to join the main road west out of Nola. I saw a flustered Castus standing with Cannicus at the head of a logjam of vehicles, all trying to get onto the road. I rode over to him. Before we left the rich house we had plundered it of anything of value. I had found a silk vest and an expensive white tunic edge with red and gold. I took both items and put them on, plus a pair of riding boots and a white cloak. I got rid of the red plume on my helmet and replaced it with a long white plume of goose feathers. I was a Parthian not a Roman, and wanted to look like one. I also took time to comb my hair and shave, instructing my men to do likewise.

Castus looked up at me. ‘Nice horse.’

‘How long have the wagons been leaving?’ I asked.

‘Since dawn. At last count we had nearly four hundred piled high. The town armoury yielded a thousand spears and shields, plus a couple of hundred mail shirts.’

I looked at the German warriors on the carts and others standing guard around the forum. They seemed as ill dressed and armed as yesterday.

‘Have you re-equipped others of your men?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Everything goes back to Vesuvius, to be distributed according to need. Spartacus is insistent on that.’

‘Where is he?’

‘At the amphitheatre. Cannicus will show you the way.’

Cannicus was glad to be away from the melee in the forum, and led my men and myself into the western suburbs of Nola, to a large wooden stadium. We dismounted and I ordered my men to remain outside as Cannicus led me through one of the open gates. Inside was an elongated, sand-covered space surrounded on all four sides by wooden stands filled with benches. There was no protection from the elements, aside from the stand at the far end which did have a roof supported by wooden pillars, under which were placed elaborate chairs. Spartacus sat on the edge of the covered stand, his legs dangling over the side of the high wooden sides that enclosed the arena. I thanked Cannicus and made my way to him along the rows of benches. He didn’t look up as I sat beside him. He was silent for a long time, looking at the sand surface below.

‘I fought here a few times,’ he said at last. ‘It was always full and always hot. They kill the criminals first, in the morning, and then they like to have animal fights. By the time the gladiators fight each other it was the afternoon and the place stank of blood, piss, vomit and shit. The used to cover the blood with more sand but the stink always got in my nostrils. That’s the thing I remember most, not the killing, or the shouts of the crowd, but the disgusting smell. No matter how grand or ragged the arena, the smell was always the same.’

He stood up and looked skywards. ‘I had thought of burning Nola, but seeing as it’s been most generous to our cause I think I will be merciful. Do you think I should have killed the inhabitants?’

I was shocked. ‘Lord?’

‘The Romans respect strength. They see mercy as weakness.’ He looked at me, his eyes wild. ‘But most of all they like blood, lots of blood. Why else would they watch men butcher each other for sport? I promise to give them what they desire most.’

‘It was right to let the inhabitants leave, lord.’

He shrugged and walked away. ‘We leave today. Time to get back to Vesuvius. This will have stung the Romans into action, and they will be sending another army to wipe us out soon enough.’

It was late afternoon before I and my men left the town, walking our mounts along the western road out of Nola. Ahead was a long line of carts as far as the eye could see, intermingled with Castus’ warriors. We too had commandeered some carts, which we had filed with all the equipment from the stables that Godarz had tended, plus others we had plundered. He was happy to be with us, and even happier when I mounted Remus and asked him to attend me as I went to find Spartacus, leaving my men to guard the wagons. We found him two miles ahead, sitting on his horse atop the crest of a hill that overlooked the plain in which Nola sat. He saw us and nodded, then peered past us. I turned and saw a large plume of black smoke rising from the town into the cloudless sky.

‘You are burning the town, lord?’ I asked.

‘Just the amphitheatre, together with the garrison.’

‘Lord?’

‘I had them taken there, chained to the benches, covered in pitch and set alight.’ He looked directly into my eyes. ‘There are limits to my mercy, Pacorus.’

He then looked at Remus and for a moment I thought that I saw a look of alarm in his eyes.

‘A man from the east riding a white horse.’

‘Lord?’

‘Nothing,’ he snapped. ‘One more thing. We share everything that is taken from the Romans. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you did not know of my policy, but see to it that it doesn’t happen again.’

It took the rest of the day and most of the next to get the booty back to Vesuvius. There was excitement in the by now very large camp when we returned. My Parthians were pleased to see that the cavalry had returned with no losses, and were delighted to welcome Godarz among us. Though he had been a prisoner of the Romans for many years, his presence was a reminder of home and his easy manner meant he fitted in straight away. We now had enough horses to mount all my Parthians, though parties were sent out each day to collect more wild horses and any more we could ‘liberate’ from the Romans. The news of the capture of Nola must have spread far and wide, for every day more recruits arrived to swell the army. Field hands and shepherds for the most part, with a smattering of better-dressed town slaves who fancied themselves as warriors, but who had no idea of the hardships that would be required of them. The majority were Gauls and Germans, the former being jealously acquired by Crixus, whose contingent was by far the largest. But there were also Dacians who were skilled horsemen trained to fight as heavy cavalry in armour, but who also used bows similar to ours. Thracians also flocked to the banner of Spartacus, most for no other reason than he was a fellow countryman. His infamy was spreading. So many were coming in that Spartacus convened a council of war to deal with the overcrowding. The meeting was held in his large genera’s tent, a gift from the garrison of Rome, in the centre of the sprawling camp, over which hung a constant pall of smoke from hundreds of cooking fires that were lit every day. I took Nergal and Godarz with me, Nergal because he was my deputy and Godarz because he was familiar with the locality. I had made him the quartermaster of the cavalry, a position he undertook with relish. In no time he had located a number of villas that we had requisitioned as temporary stables. They had belonged to rich Pompeians, but their owners had long since vanished, either to Naples or Pompeii or to the north.

We arrived just as the afternoon sun was beginning its descent into the west. The day had been hot and the jugs of water were indeed welcome as we filed cups and slumped in leather-backed chairs with ornate arm rests, from Nola no doubt. There were no women present. As usual the chairs were arranged around the table. When all had arrived Spartacus rose and asked each of us to provide details on our contingents. Crixus, as large and odious as ever, belched loudly and rose first. Surprisingly he did not have a total lack of manners, introducing the two Gauls with him, whose hair was similarly unkempt and who also wore torques at their necks and had blue tattoos on their faces. The one who sat on the left of Crixus was named Dumnorix, a gaunt-looking man with deep-set green eyes and lank brown hair. The other individual was Oenomaus, a barrel-chested oaf who seemed less intelligent than Crixus, if that was possible. Crixus announced that he had four thousand Gauls ready to kill Romans, and he wanted the chance to prove it, berating Spartacus for not taking him and his men to Nola. Spartacus brushed aside his protests.

‘We have talked already about that,’ he said, ‘and the matter is closed.’

I smiled at Crixus who glared at me and sat back in his chair, breaking wind loudly after he had done so. Castus rose next, smiling at me as he did so, and stated that his Germans numbered three thousand, though half of them had no weapons or armour save wooden clubs and spears. Spartacus promised that the next batch of weapons would be allocated to the Germans, but he emphasised that the whole army lacked weapons and that only half of it was adequately armed. He nodded at me to give my report.

‘I have two hundred cavalry,’ I said proudly.

Crixus and his two companions burst into loud laughter.

‘Two hundred?’ thundered Crixus, ‘what use is that when we are faced by ten thousand Romans?’ He then pointed at Spartacus. ‘I warned you about this, said it was a waste of time. But you wouldn’t listen, and here’s the result.’

‘It’s quality, not quantity, that counts in battle,’ I said. ‘An ill-armed mob can be scattered easy enough by a handful of horse.’

Crixus rose from his chair, his cheeks flushed red, his axe in his right hand. ‘Careful boy, I just might lop your head off and use it as a piss-pot. It’s obviously wasted on your shoulders.’

My right hand went to the hilt of my sword hanging from the belt on my hip, just as Spartacus rose and drew his Roman short sword, called a gladius. His words came slowly but were reinforced by steel.

‘Do not draw that sword, Pacorus. Crixus, take your seat. There will be no fighting here. Since none of you has fought in a legion I will provide a short lesson. A legion consists of five thousand men.’

‘I know that,’ grumbled Crixus.

‘But did you know, Crixus, that every legion has around a hundred and twenty cavalry attached to it, to do scouting, patrols, guarding the flanks and pursuing and cutting down a fleeing enemy? Cavalry are useful to the Romans and will be useful to us. Two hundred is an excellent start.’

‘Lord,’ I said, ‘it would be most helpful if an appeal could be made for all those who can ride to join the cavalry. Horses are not a problem in these parts,’ I nodded to Godarz in appreciation, ‘but riders are.’

‘No Gaul will ride with you,’ snapped Dumnorix, prompting a guffaw from Crixus.

‘Can Gauls ride?’ I quipped.

‘Enough,’ shouted Spartacus. ‘Sit down, Pacorus. Your request is granted.’

I took my seat and stared in contempt at Crixus, who returned my disdain. As we engaged in our childish game Spartacus informed us that he had two thousand Thracians plus an assortment of Greeks, Jews, Spaniards and Africans who made up a further five hundred.

‘In two or three months’ time,’ he said, ‘we will be ready to move.’

The next day I sat in a tent with flaps open at a table with Nergal and Godarz, interviewing those who had come forth to serve in the cavalry. True to his word, none of Crixus’ Gauls was present. The majority were Germans dressed in ragged tunics with nothing on their feet. But I liked them. They were a straightforward people whose menfolk seemed to like fighting. Obviously Castus had encouraged those within his ranks who could ride to volunteer themselves. I would thank him later. There were also Dacians, a few Greeks and Spaniards, and even a few men who had fought for Mithridates of Pontus. They burned with hatred against Rome and I was pleased to accept them. When we had finished it was late in the day and Nergal and I were very pleased with ourselves. Godarz sat on a stool with a pencil and parchment. He had been keeping count of our new recruits.

‘Three hundred and two, highness,’ he said, beaming.

‘Excellent. If they all get through the training that will make five companies in all.’ I stretched back in my chair and closed my eyes. ‘A good day’s work, gentlemen.’

‘Are you still looking for recruits, Parthian?’

I opened my eyes and saw a vision of a goddess before me. It was Gallia, the one who had made my heart soar at the feast, who now stood proudly before me, her piercing blue eyes looking down at me. Up close she was even more perfect than I remembered. Her light skin was flawless, her full lips clamped shut and her blonde hair tied behind her in a long plait. She wore a blue tunic edged with white, with tan knee-length breeches and laced leather boots. At her waist was a black leather belt decorated with bronze stiffeners and studded with fasteners to allow the attachment of personal equipment. One such item was a dagger that hung on her right side. Her posture conveyed strength and determination, while her exquisite face had the look of the huntress. I was at first lost for words. I just wanted to look at her for eternity. Nergal brought me back to reality.

‘Highness?’

I cleared my throat and stood up. I must appear calm and collected, I told myself, even though my insides were turning to mush. I bowed my head.

‘Your servant, lady.’

‘We wish to join your cavalry.’

At that moment I noticed that she had brought a companion, another woman of similar age though slightly smaller in stature, and of a more fragile build. She had light brown hair, a round face and brown eyes, with an altogether more vulnerable appearance. She too wore knee-length breeches beneath a light brown tunic. I recognised her, it was Diana. She was attractive, I suppose, though next to the fierce and untamed beauty of Gallia she diminished greatly. I told Nergal what she had said, as he as yet understood only a few words of Latin.

‘Join the cavalry?’ he laughed. ‘You have more chance of sprouting wings.’

Gallia did not understand what he said, but she understood his mocking tone well enough.

‘What did he say?’

‘He thinks it would be inappropriate for you to join the cavalry.’

‘I was told that Prince Pacorus was the leader of the cavalry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I was misinformed.’

‘I can assure you that I command here,’ I replied.

She jerked her hand towards Nergal.

‘Then shouldn’t he be shoveling dung or doing something else useful?’

I put my hands up in a conciliatory manner. ‘He meant no offence, lady.’

‘He should engage his brain before he opens his mouth,’ Gallia’s blood was obviously stirred. Nergal jumped up.

‘What did she say, highness?’ I told him.

‘I do not take insults from a woman.’

I could see that neither would back down, which made me admire her even more. Clearly she had no fear. She was some creature, that’s for sure, this woman from Gaul.

‘Leave us, Nergal,’ I said.

‘Women do not fight. Women cannot fight,’ he sneered, before saluting me and stomping off.

‘I apologise for Nergal,’ I said to Gallia. ‘He’s a little hot-headed.’

‘Clearly,’ she purred. She looked at me with her blue pools for eyes. Her anger disappeared as her manner became conciliatory, almost seductive. ‘Spartacus says that you are a great warrior, so I thank you for being at his side. He is my friend and I count as friends all those he holds dear.’ Her voice was soft and inviting, and I was a willing victim. ‘So I ask you, Prince Pacorus, son of Hatra, to let me fight by your side so I too can serve Spartacus. What is your answer?’

I knew that I would not, could not, refuse her; knew that had she asked me I would have given her anything in that moment.

‘I would be honoured, lady.’ I heard myself saying the words, yet it was as if something had taken control of me.

She nodded. ‘And this is my friend, Diana, and she’s joining too. We will await your instructions.’

With that Gallia turned and marched from the tent, Diana trailing in her wake.

‘I would say that is a victory for the fairer sex,’ remarked Godarz, who had sat in silence throughout the exchange.

‘Probably just a show to try and impress me,’ I shrugged.

‘Really? From where I sat I could have sworn that it was the other way round.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said.

‘I think she is serious about fighting.’

I shrugged. ‘I doubt she can even ride.’

Godarz looked at the disappearing figure of Gallia. ‘I think that one has many talents, young prince, and she certainly knows her own mind and how to use her charms to get what she wants.’

And so it was that two women became the first females to enter the hallowed ranks of the Parthian cavalry, in the land of my enemies, in an army of slaves.

I told my men of my decision that night and most of them thought it was a joke. Nergal was furious, Gafarn amused, Godarz confused and Byrd unconcerned.

‘In any case,’ I told them when we were eating cooked lamb around a blazing fire.

‘She is obviously trying to impress Spartacus and will drop out soon enough.’ I looked at a still fuming Nergal.

‘What woman can ride like a Parthian warrior?’ he spat.

But in my heart I hoped she would stay with us.

It was high summer now and the recruitment and equipping of the cavalry increased apace. We all knew that the Romans would soon be sending an army to crush us; for all we knew it was already marching south from Rome. I had scouts riding as far north as Capua, as far south as Salurnum and west to Beneventum, and thus far no signs of enemy activity had been seen. The scouts were organised by Byrd who was advised by Godarz, who told me that he had ridden far and wide scouting for horses for his master’s stables, so he was well acquainted with the region.

‘You were under guard during those trips?’ I asked him.

‘Of course not,’ he replied, somewhat surprised. ‘My master trusted me.’

‘What stopped you escaping, then?’

‘Nothing. But where would I go?’ he said. ‘My master could not conceive of me running away. He fed me, didn’t beat me and let me care for his horses, which he knew I loved. So you see, I was a loyal dog to him. That’s what he regarded me as, you understand, not a real person, only a slave.’

It was now time for us to make our Scythian bows for which we were famous throughout the known world. Parthian bows are double-curved, with recurve tips at the end of the upper and lower limbs, and a set-back centre section that was grasped by the left hand. The limbs themselves are thick in proportion to their width. We selected yew for the wood, which is the best for bows, having excellent tension and is also able to withstand the compressive forces when the bow is in use. Thus the base of each bow is yew, with sinew on the outside of the limbs and greyish horn on their inner side. These parts were mated to each other with a glue made from bitumen, bark pitch and animal grease, and the whole bow was then wrapped in fibres — derived from the tendons of slaughtered animals. We would have liked to have used lacquer to have made the bows waterproof, but lacquer came from China and was very expensive. We would have to make do without. Each bow was just over four feet in length.

It took two months to make a thousand bows, which were kept under cover in the rooms of the villas we occupied. The large, empty villas of Campania with their many rooms and voluminous outbuildings were ideal workshops for are bow-making industry. We guarded them fiercely, for these were the weapons that would give us victory in battle.

While we Parthians constructed the bows, Godarz set about making thousands of arrows. The shafts consisted of two-foot lengths of pine with three-bladed bronze arrowheads. Each day he set off early in the morning with two hundred men to cut down saplings to make the arrow shafts. Only the straightest saplings were selected. It could take up to six months to dry the wood, but the heat of the Italian summer meant we could do it quicker. The cut saplings were tied together in bunches and left for two to three weeks, after which they were unwrapped and any remaining bark was peeled, then they were wrapped again for a further two weeks until they had dried.

Once cut to the required length, each arrow was fitted with three feathers that guided it in flight. I told Godarz not to make the feathers too large, big feathers caught more air and shortened the range. We used goose feathers, not the tail feathers but ones from the wings. Tom feathers are preferred because they are heavier and last longer. When glued to the shaft they were positioned at even intervals from each other. After two months he was sick of cutting wood, but I knew his endeavours would reap dividends in the months ahead.

Our quivers were made from cowhide and were large enough to hold thirty arrows, with a hide flap that could be drawn over the top to protect the contents from rain. When mounted we carried the quiver on our left side, which was held in place by a strap over our right shoulder. In this way a rider could pull an arrow from his quiver with his right hand and string his bow in the same movement. The cases for our bows were also made from cowhide, and when riding were attached to the left side of the saddle.

We had our horses and their riders, but there was still the question of whether horses and riders could be turned into cavalry capable of taking the fight to the enemy.

‘Impossible to say, highness.’ Nergal had regained his positive attitude since the outburst over women joining the cavalry. He sat with a leg draped over the arm of a chair in the voluminous dining room. It was part of a large villa ten miles from Vesuvius that I had requisitioned as my headquarters. It had obviously belonged to a rich Roman, having many rooms, a courtyard, garden and colonnade porticos on all sides. He was obviously enjoying his position of rank and in truth he had assumed his responsibilities with vigour.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘the first thing we must do is see if they can ride, then we’ll move on to weapons handling and drills.’

‘Does that include archery?’ asked Nergal.

‘We’ll have to see how they shape up. There’s a big difference between fighting on horseback with a sword and spear and shooting a bow from the saddle.’

‘What about the women?’ he asked casually.

‘What about them?’ I really didn’t want to discuss Gallia and her friend, if truth be told. I was, I had to admit, slightly embarrassed. ‘They probably can’t even ride, so they will drop out at the first stage. They are friends of Spartacus, though, so there’s no point in alienating him.’

‘You didn’t consider that when you and Crixus were squaring up to each other.’ Gafarn could always be relied on to say the most awkward things. ‘But then he doesn’t have a body and a face like a goddess.’

Godarz smiled and Nergal laughed.

‘Shut up,’ I snapped.

‘The truth unpalatable? Besides, now I am free I can say what I like.’

‘Your tongue,’ I said, ‘has always been free with advice and comments. It appears that the rest of you has caught up with it.’

‘What does it matter,’ chipped in Byrd, ‘if they want to kill Romani that should be enough.’

Nergal shrugged and the matter was closed, for the time being. I had grown to like Byrd. He said little and he must have been lonely, being the only one of his people among us and being able to speak only a little Latin, but he never grumbled and was becoming a valuable member of my horsemen. I had told him that he could come and live in Hatra when we got home, if we got home.

The next day all the volunteers were assembled on a broad plain half a mile from the main camp at Vesuvius. It was early morning, as I didn’t want the horses to be tired unnecessarily. The Dacians I had no concerns about. Their cavalry was similar to that of Parthia, and they used a bow like ours. There were over a hundred of them and I was going to form them into a company under the leadership of a fierce black-haired warrior called Burebista. Actually all the Dacians appeared fierce, and Burebista had told me that they believed that death in battle would earn them a place in heaven with their god, Zalmoxis. As they were horsemen, they knew all there was to know about caring for their mounts, and I had already allocated them a bow each.

Rome had an insatiable appetite for foreign conquests, and her armies had reaped a rich harvest in former enemies turned into slaves. Fortunately for Spartacus and myself, ex-soldiers can easily be turned into soldiers once again, and so it was with the slaves who were now flocking to his standard, and so it was with the Dacians who were now riding under my command. I had given them the wild horses that we had tamed, and they rode them that morning as if they had been riding them for years. The Thracians were also good horsemen, though they bred their horses for racing and their horsemen were light cavalry. They mustered two hundred men under a dour fellow called Rhesus, though I learned that Thracians did not actually use saddles but rode on saddlecloths only. As such they used spears and javelins on horseback and wore no armour. Rhesus assured me that this did not prevent them from being good fighters, since they killed their enemies before they could get within striking distance. However, I told him that he and his men would be using saddles from now on. Like us, he and his men had been captured during a battle against the Romans, and had spent the last year being forced to work as field hands, chained up every night in stinking pens, woken every day before dawn before enduring endless hours under a hot sun. They burned with a desire to water the soil with Roman blood. They evidently had no problem serving under a young foreigner, as Spartacus had informed them that I had captured a Roman eagle and that I had obviously been sent by Dionysus himself.

‘Who’s Dionysus?’ I asked.

‘He’s the god of the here and now, lord,’ explained Rhesus ‘the god who holds life and death together. He is the bringer of liberation who will strike madness, wildness and terror into the Romans. Raised by Zeus, himself, he was. Spartacus’ lady is one of his trusted servants on earth.’

‘Claudia,’ I said.

‘Yes, that’s her. She’s a priestess of Dionysus. She can tell the future.’

I was skeptical. ‘Really?’

‘Told us you would be coming.’

Now I was curious. ‘How so?’

‘Said that a rider from the east would come, one who would spit metal, one who would be mounted on a white horse. The son of the wild boar.’

My blood ran cold, for Varaz, my father’s name, meant ‘wild boar’. I dismissed it as a coincidence.

I had given Gallia the chestnut horse that Spartacus had presented to me, and to her friend I had given a grey mare. They were both reliable, calm mounts, though I still had my doubts about the womens’ riding ability. That morning I was disabused of my opinion. They were both fine riders, at one with their mounts and just as good as the men, at least when it came to horsemanship.

After the riders had been put through their paces, the horses were rested and their riders dismounted and sat in groups on the ground. The day was getting hotter and I wanted all the horses back under cover, so I told Nergal to instruct the company commanders to return to their abandoned Roman homes that now constituted their bases. I took the opportunity to ride Remus over to where Gallia and Diana were walking their mounts back to Vesuvius. I caught up with them and dismounted.

‘A fine day, ladies,’ I said.

They stopped and both looked at me. Gallia was as radiant as ever, even after two hours of riding, and she smiled, though not at me.

‘He’s beautiful,’ she purred, extending her free left hand at Remus, who moved his head towards her hand and put his ears forward. Sure signs that he liked her. Why wouldn’t he? She was gorgeous.

‘His name is Remus,’ I said.

‘You have a good eye for a horse, Prince Pacorus,’ said Gallia, rather coolly. ‘So have we passed the test for your cavalry?’

‘The riding part, yes,’ I replied. ‘But there is more to fighting on horseback than being able to ride.’

‘Of course,’ she said. She stopped and looked at me, her eyes the clearest blue.

‘Would you like to eat with us tonight? A small gathering: Spartacus, his wife, and we two.’

I thought my heart would burst out of my chest with delight. I smiled uncontrollably at her. Diana laughed and Remus, obviously picking up on my emotions, snorted. Gallia gently stroked the side of his head.

‘You can bring Remus, too. Claudia would love to see him.’

The early evening was warm as I rode him into the camp at Vesuvius. I could see that the crater was far fuller than it had been when I had first arrived. There were the tidy lines of Roman tents, plus other camps with rough earth shelters with foliage on top for makeshift roofs. Though these too were arranged in lines in a grid pattern, their building materials gave them a scruffy appearance. There also appeared to be more women than before, and even some children. The hundreds of cattle, chickens, sheep, pigs and goats had been segregated into pens that littered the fringes of the camp and also the slopes of Vesuvius. It appeared that the shepherds had brought their flocks with them. I had moved all the horses outside the camp and deployed them in the surrounding countryside. It was not healthy for so much livestock to be crowded into one place; sickness could wipe them all out. The old Roman camp, the one that Spartacus had attacked when I had been freed, had been strengthened with a wooden palisade with watchtowers at regular intervals. Spartacus had placed a garrison in the fort under the command of a fellow Thracian named Akmon, a squat, dark-haired individual who had a deep scar down the right side of his face, a souvenir of a particularly hard fight in the arena, or so Spartacus told me. He reminded me of a devilish imp that my mother had told me about when I was a child, and as I passed the camp I saw him on the palisade. I raised my hand in salute but he just stared at me with his black eyes. Spartacus had told me that he was a good fighter and loyal. It took a long time before I earned his trust.

I rode down the central avenue and came to the general’s tent. Two guards stood outside and they snapped to attention as I passed them, while an attendant took Remus from me. I had to admit that Spartacus was moulding the disparate elements of his followers into a credible force, though whether they would be able to stand up to the Romans in battle was another matter. As I entered, Claudia embraced me.

‘Welcome, Pacorus. Spartacus has been telling me how impressed he is with your cavalry.’

‘Thank you, lady,’ I said.

‘You can call me Claudia, we are all friends here. Isn’t that right, Gallia?’

I turned to see the owner of my heart standing beside the long table that ran along the far side of the voluminous tent. Her blonde hair was free and cascaded over her shoulders, which were covered by a blue sleeveless stola. Diana was dressed in white and her hair was gathered at the back of her head. I must admit that she too was attractive, though she came a poor second to Gallia. I bowed, Claudia laughed.

‘So formal, Pacorus,’ she took my arm in hers. ‘Come, let us eat.’

Spartacus entered at that moment, carrying a large plate piled high with meats. He wore no weapons, no armour and was dressed in a simple tunic. At that moment he looked like a house slave not a general.

‘Ah, Pacorus, good to see you. Sit yourself down. I hope you have a good appetite.’

Claudia led me to my seat, sat on my right side and invited Gallia to sit on my left. I was as happy as an eagle that had caught a lamb when Gallia sat beside me. Then Spartacus served us wine from a expensive silver jug, served into equally fine silver goblets. The meal was a happy occasion and for a while I could forget that I was in the enemy’s heartland and far from home. Spartacus, laughing and at ease, was far removed from the assassin of the arena and calculating commander I had witnessed at Nola. As the evening wore on and the wine took hold, he told us stories of his homeland and his boyhood, how he had been a poor shepherd tending sheep in the harsh landscape of Thrace. Tears came to his eyes as he recounted how his mother had died of the plague when he was a boy, and his father’s death from a broken heart shortly after.

‘But one day we will return to Thrace and live in peace, far away from Rome and Romans.’ He looked into Claudia’s eyes. ‘That is our dream.’

‘It is the dream of all of us,’ said Diana.

‘Not all of us,’ muttered Gallia.

‘You do not want to go home, lady?’ I asked.

She looked at me with those eyes of piercing blue. ‘There are some who have no desire to leave Italy, but would rather stay and rob and kill.’

‘I do not follow,’ I said.

‘Gallia is talking of Crixus,’ said Claudia. ‘I believe you know him.’

‘I know him,’ I said.

‘Gallia,’ interrupted Spartacus, ‘thinks that I should send Crixus away. But in truth he draws men to our cause and his Gauls would be a welcome addition to any army. We need men like Crixus if we are to defeat the Romans and leave this wretched place.’

‘He draws men like a moth to a flame, it is true,’ said Claudia, the oil lamps hanging from the centre poles highlighting her feline grace and beauty, ‘but it is not the flame of freedom that burns within you, my love. Gallia is right in her opinion of Crixus, he is dangerous.’

‘Of course he is,’ remarked Spartacus, ‘he’s been trained to kill, as have I.’

‘You kill because you have to, he kills because he enjoys it. There is a difference. You should not trust him.’

‘Enough of Crixus,’ said Spartacus, ‘he is part of this army and that’s final. You see, Pacorus, how I am assaulted on all sides by women.’

I glanced at Gallia. ‘You are indeed fortunate to be thus assailed, lord.’

Claudia saw my glance and smiled. ‘What woman would you have besieging you, Pacorus?

I could feel myself blushing and cleared my throat in embarrassment. Spartacus came to my rescue.

‘Leave him alone. He is here to enjoy himself, not to be interrogated.’

I stayed the night as the guest of Spartacus, and early the next morning rose and fed and watered Remus before I washed and ate a breakfast of warm porridge that Claudia had cooked. I liked her. At first she had seemed remote and aloof, but the previous evening had revealed her softer side, and I found her intelligent and forthright. After I had finished eating I took her to see Remus. She too fell in love with him and he returned the sentiment. He was a show-off and obviously liked attractive women; he flicked his long white tail as she stroked his neck.

‘You like her, don’t you?’ she asked, innocently.

‘Who?’

‘Gallia, who else?’

‘Well, I, that is…’

‘I hope you are not so indecisive in battle,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she has a fierce, independent will, and will not yield easily to any man. You know she’s a princess, don’t you?’

I looked at her in amazement.

‘It’s true, she is of the Senones tribe of the Gallic people, and her father is a king who decided that he could become a greater king if he formed an alliance with a rival chief. So he tried to force Gallia to marry this chief, who was three times her age. But she refused to marry the fat old man, whereupon her father bound her and took her to the nearest Roman town and sold her into slavery for defying him. She burns with anger, Pacorus.’ Claudia fixed me with her narrow brown eyes. ‘But I think that the one thing she wants most is to be able to trust again.’

It was high summer now, though even the hottest days were not as fierce as Hatra’s climate at this time of year. Spartacus increased the tempo of the army’s training, and every day the plains around Vesuvius were filled with large bodies of troops learning the drills of the Roman army. Our bows were now ready to use, but before they were issued I called all the cavalry to my headquarters. They had done well, for in addition to forming a bond with their horse, each man had to learn to handle a sword and lance on horseback. I was fortunate to have a cadre of Parthians who could impart their skills to the rest. Even those who could ride and perhaps had been trained in horsemanship had to re-learn rusty skills. In addition, Godarz had organised a unit of veterinaries, grooms and farriers, for unlike the Romans our horses had iron shoes on their feet. The cavalry now numbered eight hundred men, with a trickle of new recruits coming in each day.

With the bows now ready I was keen to turn them into horse archers. Each rider had learnt how to mount and dismount quickly, how to jump obstacles, ride over uneven terrain, and perform circles, turns and fast halts. Then they had moved on to operate as part of a larger formation of a hundred-man company, how to move from column into line without tangling with each other, how to wheel in formation and double back, to turn in a circle, and to press home the charge. It had taken three hard months of daily training to turn a group of freed slaves, albeit some with riding skills, into a disciplined body of cavalry. Now it was time for them to learn how to shoot a bow from the saddle.

It was good to feel a bow in my hand at long last. The assembled included Gallia and Diana, for they too had become part of our brotherhood. Even Nergal had stopped his protests at their presence. In truth I was surprised at how they had both worked hard, drilling constantly, learning basic horse care and tending to their mounts assiduously. I had formed a personal unit of twenty Parthians, which Gafarn rather annoyingly called my royal bodyguard. Into this unit I drafted Gallia and Diana, and for his impertinence I ordered Gafarn to be their personal bodyguard. He might be an insolent pest, but he could ride as well as any of us and he reckoned that he was the best archer in the Parthian Empire; a boast that I reluctantly had to admit had some merit in it. Now he stood with the rest of my cavalry, hundreds of them gathered in a large field in Campania. I glanced at Gallia and smiled and she returned the gesture. My chest heaved with delight. I held my bow aloof for all those assembled to see.

‘This is what makes Parthia strong. This is what keeps Parthia free. Our horse archers are the finest in the world and this bow, descended from the ones used by the great horsemen of the northern steppes many generations ago, will out-range and out-shoot any other bow in the world. Some of you are already acquainted with shooting arrows from the saddle, but aside from those from Hatra, none of you has used a Parthian bow. You will be taught how to shoot this bow from a standing position and then from the saddle. There’s no secret to being a good archer, it just takes practice, lots and lots of practice. We may be few in number compared to the rest of the army, but in battle we can make the difference between victory and defeat.

‘Godarz will issue each one of you with a bow. Treasure it, treat it like your best friend, for in combat it will be the thing that will save your life. With the help of your bows we can defeat the Romans, and if we defeat the Romans then we can all go home.’

Afterwards each man was issued with a bow, its case, two bowstrings, a quiver and thirty arrows. Thus equipped, the companies rode back to their quarters. Gallia and Diana took their place in the queue and accepted their bows from Godarz. I noticed that none of the men objected to them being included. The next day archery practice began. I built a target in the grounds of the villa, a simple circle of packed straw nailed to a post. I asked Gallia and Diana to come to the villa to demonstrate their archery skills, while the rest of the men were divided into groups of five, each of them having a Parthian as an instructor. The groups practised in the fields around the villa. The day was warm and the garden was filled with the sweet scent of oleanders, violets, crocus and narcissus. The Romans, the rich ones in any case, loved their flowers and herbs, and we had found separate alcoves where mint, savory, celery seed, basil, bay and hyssop grew. Both women were dressed in their tunics and knee-length breeches, with their hair in a single plait. Godarz sat on stool and munched an apple, while I attended Gallia and Gafarn tutored Diana.

I took my bow and faced the two women. ‘Archery is very simple and with practice most people can become a reasonable shot.’

‘Even a woman?’ teased Gallia.

‘Even a woman,’ I replied.

‘Especially a woman, for they have a more cunning eye,’ said Gafarn, who winked at Diana.

‘Thank you, Gafarn,’ I said, sternly. ‘First of all, remember to adopt a comfortable stance, one foot in front of the other. Don’t tense, let your body become one with the bow.’ I took an arrow from my quiver sat on the ground and strung it. ‘The arrow should be placed so that two flight feathers are towards you and the third is pointing away from you. Put three fingers to the string. The index finger should be above the arrow and the second and third finger should be under it. Form a deep hook with your fingers; they should be bent in both first and second joint. Place the string in the first joint.

‘Now, place your bow hand in the grip and let your knuckles form a line forty-five degrees against the bow. The pressure point should be on the thick part of the thumb muscle so that the pressure from the grip should go as straight as possible into the arm. Then straighten your bow arm, lift it and at the same time lift your draw arm and pull the string from almost nothing to around a third of the draw length. Keep the draw hand at the same height as the bow hand, at the level of your eye.

‘Your draw-arm shoulder should be in a natural position, not lifted up or pushed back, just lift the bow as naturally as you can. You can stretch your bow hand, your left hand, against the target at this point and you will automatically get your shoulder in the correct position close to the string. You are ready to shoot, but remember to relax your draw arm and only use the muscles of your back to hold the string. Your bow arm should hold a pressure against the target corresponding to the force that works backwards so the body and bow are in balance. The holding phase is very short, it should not take more than half of a second, enough to relax the arm muscles and transfer the holding weight to the back muscles. Now you aim, drawing back the string a fraction. Don’t lean forward or back; keep your body in balance. Don’t worry too much about aiming, concentrate on your back muscles, for they are the secret to being a good archer. Your subconscious will take care of the target. You have seen it, you know where it is, but to hit it you must have a good release.

‘The correct way is to simply relax your fingers on your draw hand and let the force from the string move the fingers out of the way. You should not use your muscles in the hand to open the fingers curled around the string as this will disturb the string and cause inconsistent arrow flight. So let your fingers open so the string gets a clear release with a minimum of disturbance. Your bow arm should not move when you take the shot, since you have a tension backwards in the draw arm, and your hand will move smoothly backwards when the string is released. Keep your eyes at the target until the arrow hits it.’

The arrow flew straight and true and slammed into the middle of the target.

‘Good shot,’ said Godarz, taking another bite of his apple.

‘Excellent shot, highness,’ said Gafarn, who strung an arrow himself and let it fly, also hitting the centre of the target and splitting my arrow in two. Diana squealed in delight and gave Gafarn a kiss, while Gallia looked at me, grinned and shrugged.

‘A lucky shot,’ I mumbled.

‘Do you want me to do it again, highness?’ asked Gafarn, innocently, though with a wide grin across his face.

‘No, we are here to instruct not compete.’

‘Just as well,’ said Gafarn, smiling at a clearly impressed Diana,’ I always beat him.’

It was a marvelous afternoon, and both Gallia and Diana showed some promise with a bow. It was a good start, and the day was rounded off with all of us sharing a meal of bread, olives and fruit, washed down by wine. Afterwards, as usual, I rode with Gallia back to the main camp. Gafarn had taken Diana off to see some wild stallions that the men had just brought in. It was the first time that I had been alone with her. She was happy, I think, and I hoped that being with me made her so, but perhaps it was just because it had been an enjoyable day.

‘My arms will ache tomorrow.’

‘They will get used to it. Keep practising and your body will become accustomed to shooting.’

We were riding side by side and she turned to look at me. ‘Gafarn is very free with his tongue in your company. Is it normal for a servant to speak to a prince so?’

I laughed. ‘Gafarn is, well, he has always been with me since I was a child. I put up with him because he has always been the same irritating rascal he is now. But he is loyal, both to me and to my parents. So much so that I put up with him.’

‘And he’s a good archer,’ she said, smiling.

I grimaced. ‘Indeed.’

‘Do you miss your home, Pacorus?’

The question surprised me somewhat. ‘Yes.’

‘What do you miss most about it?’

‘My father and mother, I suppose, and my friend, Vata.’

‘No one else? No wife?’

I laughed. ‘No wife, though my parents would like me to marry, I think. They were engineering a marriage between myself and Princess Axsen of Babylon. A marriage that would strengthen my father’s kingdom. But she’s very fat.’

‘You do not like fat women?’

I felt her questions were part of an intricate game, some sort of test. What was her purpose in asking me such queries?

‘I think I would like to get to know someone first before I marry them, be they fat or thin. And would prefer to marry someone that I love rather than be a pawn in a game of strategy.’

She said nothing for a few minutes as our horses slowly ambled towards the hundreds of small fires that dotted the camp at evening time. ‘I think that too,’ she mused as we passed the crude wooden watchtowers that guarded the entrance. I said goodnight to her at Spartacus’ tent. I glanced behind once as Remus trotted down the central avenue, to see her standing arrow straight observing me. This woman was coursing through my heart and head with the force of a desert wind. Gallia was the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I drifted off to sleep at night.

The last weeks of summer were a happy time as eight hundred men and two women were turned into horse archers. There were a fair share of cracked ribs and bruised prides as individuals learnt to shoot a bow from a horse, and often fell from the saddle when turning to the left to loose an arrow or shoot at a target directly ahead. But all of them wanted to learn, wanted to be part of the decisive component of the army. And as the time passed I almost forgot that we were in the land of the enemy and would have to fight for our freedom. But the Romans had not forgotten about us, and as autumn came upon us news reached camp that a Roman force was marching south to destroy the slave general Spartacus and his army.