The Parthian

Chapter 7

It was Byrd who rode to my headquarters and reported the news that the Romans were approaching. His horse was lathered in sweat and he was covered in dust as he gave his intelligence.

‘Romani, more than five thousand, most foot, also horse.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

He drained a cup of water offered to him by Godarz. ‘North of Capua.’

‘That’s only thirty miles away,’ remarked Godarz. ‘They could be here in two days if they got a move on.’

I rode to Vesuvius with Godarz, Nergal and Byrd, who had been given a fresh horse. We galloped down the central avenue and halted before Spartacus’ tent. Guards took our horses as we went inside to find Spartacus and Crixus sat at the table eating a meal. It was the first time I had seen the Gaul in weeks, and he sneered when he saw me and spat a piece of meat from the bone he was gnawing on the floor. He looked as big and disgusting as ever. Spartacus nodded as I marched over to him and saluted, being careful to ignore Crixus. Nergal, Godarz and Byrd followed me.

‘Romans, lord, approaching from the north.’

Spartacus put down his cup and leaned back in his chair. ‘Where?’

I pointed at Byrd. ‘This man has seen them with his own eyes. Tell him. Byrd.’

‘Five thousand foot, thereabouts, five score cavalry. North of Capua yesterday. Closer now, I think.’

‘Ha,’ bellowed Crixus, jumping up and knocking the chair to the floor, ‘we outnumber them. Let me and my men handle them.’ He looked at me. ‘Your horse boys have done their job, you won’ be needed any longer.’

I could not resist the challenge. ‘Without my horsemen you would still be feeding your face while the Romans approached unseen. Without my men you are blind.’

‘Enough!’ snapped Spartacus. ‘If you two want a fight there are a few thousand Romans to contend with.’

‘Lord Spartacus,’ interrupted Godarz, ‘if I may. The quickest way to get here is down the Via Annia.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Crixus, picking up his chair and sitting back down in it.

‘The main road to the south of Italy,’ replied Godarz. ‘If they march down that they will reach Nola in a day, then they can head west.’

‘And pin us against the sea,’ said Spartacus.

‘Yes, lord,’ replied Godarz.

‘Five thousand Gauls say they won’t make it to Vesuvius,’ boasted Crixus, tearing off a huge piece of bread from a loaf and stuffing it into his equally huge mouth. Did this man never stop shoveling food into his belly?

‘How many of your men have weapons, Crixus?’ asked Spartacus.

Crixus shrugged. ‘About half. But don’t worry, we can get the rest when we kill these Romans who are coming. My boys are itching for a fight.’

‘Or just itching, from fleas, no doubt,’ I said.

‘What was that, boy?’

‘Nothing,’ I smiled. Crixus glared at me. I knew he hated me, but his dislike seemed to have grown markedly since the last time we had seen each other.

‘No,’ said Spartacus in a stern voice, ‘we cannot risk a battle with the Romans yet. We need more weapons and more men. The Romans can afford a defeat or two, we cannot. If we are beaten our army will dissolve. Our first battle has to be a success, for only victory can cement this army together and make it strong for the hardships that are to come. We will reconvene tonight, at dusk. Pacorus, inform Castus to join us.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I saluted and turn to go.

‘And Pacorus,’ said Spartacus.’

‘Lord?’

‘Well done, your men are proving the asset I hoped they would be.’

‘Thank you, lord,’ I said, flashing a disdainful glance at Crixus, who again spat some food on the floor.

I ordered Nergal to inform the company commanders to assemble their men and wait for orders in the morning; Godarz was instructed to take an inventory of all our spare arrows, weapons, food stocks, fodder for the horses and to gather the carts and wagons that belonged to the cavalry. Castus had moved his men out of the crater of Vesuvius to a camp two miles to the south. One of the reasons he did so being the regular fights that broke out between the Gauls and Germans, some resulting in deaths. I wondered if the different nationalities that made up the army could ever learn to work together; if not, then we were surely doomed. I found Castus on the training ground, stripped to the waist and showing a group of recruits how to throw a javelin. I dismounted and embraced him; he had become a firm friend these past weeks and I enjoyed his company, and that of his pale-skinned, dark-haired warriors. I told him the news about the Romans.

‘It’s started, then. One thing’s for sure, there will be a lot of blood spilt before it’s over.’

All the captains of the various contingents of the army were present that night in Spartacus’ cavernous tent. Crixus was dressed in his war gear, a mail shirt, large round shield and his two-bladed axe. His two lieutenants, Dumnorix and Oenomaus, were similarly attired, though they wore swords at their waists. Castus and Cannicus wore captured Roman mail shirts and carried swords and daggers for weapons; they had no helmets. I brought Nergal and Burebista, who were both dressed in simple tunics and carried spathas in scabbards at their waist. I wore my white tunic and carried my helmet with its goose feathers. Spartacus sat behind his long table and did not invite us to sit, but merely examined us all in silence as we faced him across the table. Beside him stood his fellow Thracian Akmon, who eyed us like a raven examines a dead carcass. At last Spartacus spoke.

‘We are leaving Vesuvius, it has served its purpose. As you know, a Roman army is marching south towards us. We cannot be trapped here, and not enough of our men are adequately armed, so I intend to march south into Lucania. It’s a rich country and there are plenty of men there who will join us. When we have drawn the Romans to a place of our choosing, we will turn and destroy them.’

There were murmurs of disagreement from the Gauls.

‘Silence!’ ordered Spartacus, who rose to his feet. ‘Any man who disagrees with me can leave now. This is not open to debate. You will obey my orders.’

He stood, rock like, challenging anyone to defy him. None did.

‘It will take us two days to break camp, therefore we need to buy some time.’ He looked at me. ‘Pacorus.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I answered.

‘You will take half your cavalry and delay the Romans. Use whatever tactics you deem appropriate, but you have to slow them down.’

‘You can rely on me, lord.’

‘Good. Crixus,’ Spartacus continued, ‘your men will form the rearguard as we march. If Pacorus fails and the Romans arrive earlier than expected, you will have to hold them off to let the rest of us get away.’

Crixus looked at me. ‘We Gauls will not fail, even if others do,’ he snarled.

We were dismissed. I shook hands with Castus and Cannicus as Crixus and his men barged past us. Outside the tent Spartacus accosted me.

‘I’m relying on you, Pacorus. Our fate lies in your hands. You must delay them.’

I was immensely proud of having been given this responsibility.

‘Have no fear, lord,’ I said, gravely, ‘we will buy you some time.’

We left at dawn, four hundred riders carrying bows, swords and wearing tunics only, no mail shirts. We were going to harry the Romans, not engage them in battle. Already the air was filled the noise of thousands of individuals taking down tents, packing carts and herding animals for the start of the journey. We skirted Vesuvius and rode northeast, across fields and along dirt tracks, the horses kicking up clouds of dust on a parched earth. Godarz rode by my side, as he knew this country better than any of us. After four hours we halted beside a stream running beside a wood and rested the horses. We took them into the trees and removed their saddles. We would rest out of the sun until the mid-afternoon, and then ride north again, towards Capua. After checking our weapons and examining the horses for any injuries, we posted guards and snatched some sleep. I thought about Gallia. I had not seen her since the news had reached us about the Roman army, but I hoped that I would be able to see her again, Shamash willing.

We each carried full quivers. I had selected fifty Parthians and the best archers from the rest, who were mostly Dacians under the redoubtable Burebista, who was bristling with the chance to exact some revenge on the Romans.

‘Forced us to surrender,’ he said to me as we relaxed under the trees. ‘All because our general was stupid and didn’t post scouts as we withdrew, so they sneaked up on us and the next thing I knew he had given up.’

His words were a painful reminder of my own stupidity when we had been captured.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘make sure you don’t get captured again. Hit and run, Burebista, that’s what we’re here for.’

‘Yes, lord. I’ll make sure I hit them all right.’

The heat of the day was abating as we reached the hills to the east of Capua. These tree-covered slopes afforded us some shelter, for there was a distinct lack of hills or cover on the broad plain on which the city stood. Indeed, as Godarz, Nergal and I viewed Capua from the high vantage point we could see that there was no cover for miles around. The city nestled in the broad bend of a meandering river, like a giant snake, that ran from east to west, with the walled Capua being sited on its southern bank. There were houses and villages dotted around it, and a straight road that came from the north, cut through the city and then continued south. Like every major Roman road, it was as straight as an arrow.

‘That’s the road they’ll go down tomorrow,’ remarked Godarz.

I could see a mass of men and livestock about five miles from our position, with figures scurrying around as the Romans constructed their camp for the night. I had to admit that it was an amazing thing to see. A camp with an earthen rampart and wooden palisade created from nothing at the end of each day. A safe place for an army to rest each night, and a place of refuge in the face of an enemy attack. And in the morning it would be disassembled as the army moved on — truly a remarkable feat of military engineering and planning. From what Spartacus had told me, a Roman army marched an average of around fifteen miles a day, which meant that they could reach the outskirts of Naples tomorrow and be ready to attack our forces around Vesuvius the day after. So we had to do something tomorrow or it would be too late.

We ate an evening meal in a site I had selected to be our camp, a glade by the side of a dirt track that wound up the hillside and through the woods. We lit no fires lest the glow of the flames would alert the Romans in the plain below of our presence. Guards were posted in all directions in case a shepherd or other civilian stumbled upon us, though I hoped that all the shepherds hereabouts had joined Spartacus. Before the darkness descended I told the men of the plan for tomorrow. They sat on the ground in a semi-circle, their faces full of enthusiasm. We would attack the Romans tomorrow when they were on the march. I gambled that because they were in Italy, their vigilance would not be as high as it would be if they were marching through enemy territory. They would post a vanguard, that was standard procedure, but we could force the army to stop and hopefully deploy in battle array. In that way we would win our army valuable time, half a day at least.

‘Remember,’ I emphasised, ‘our bows out-range any missile weapons they may have, including any slingers they might possess, so shoot from distance. Don’t worry about accuracy, there are plenty of them and chances are that any arrows you shoot will find a target.’

I didn’t sleep that night, but paced around the camp and checked and re-checked my weapons. The dawn came soon enough, and the men fed and watered the horses and then ate a sparse breakfast of biscuit and water. There was no bravado, just four hundred cavalrymen checking their saddles, bows, helmets and bridles. I left Godarz behind with fifty men. I intended to draw away any Roman cavalry into the hills where they could be ambushed. If things went against us, then Godarz’s force would act as a rearguard if we were overwhelmed on the plain.

As the first rays of the sun appeared in the east, three hundred and fifty riders made their way down the dirt track that led onto the plain around Capua. Already the Romans would be taking down their camp and preparing to march south towards Vesuvius. As we left the cover of the wooded slope we formed into one long line, myself at the head and the other riders following me in single file. As we advanced at a canter I could already see that the Roman vanguard, made up of lightly armed foot and archers, had left the camp and was marching south on the road. The Romans had posted no outriders; why should they? They were in their home country and were here to quell a slave rebellion and not face an equal opponent in battle. Following the vanguard was a detachment of horse and legionaries, and then engineers followed by the rest of the Roman cavalry. The bulk of the legionaries were still inside the camp, dismantling the wooden palisade and packing their personal equipment.

I estimated that the van of their army was strung out on the road for half a mile or so as we galloped across the plain to get to within five hundred feet, when we would wheel sharply right, which would take us towards the Roman camp. The moment before I turned Remus sharply right I shot my arrow at the head of the Roman column, each rider following me doing likewise. In this way the Roman light troops and archers were peppered with missiles. As I rode along the column I quickly strung and loosed a succession of arrows. The Romans, having experienced an uneventful march through familiar terrain, were temporarily stunned by our presence. The air was filled with curses and squeals of pain as arrows pierced mail and flesh. I saw a centurion beside the road frantically trying to organise his men to form a wall of shields. He had his back to me as Remus galloped past him and my arrow slammed into his lower back. Individual Romans hurled their javelins at us as we drew level to them, but we were out of range and the projectiles fell short. Our arrows, though, were like a metal rain that showered their disorganised ranks, and many a bronze raindrop found a soft, fleshy landing place. In an effort to get closer to us, some legionaries ran a short distance towards us before launching their javelins, but this served only to separate them from their comrades and made them choice targets for the riders following. Many were felled in this fashion, some falling dead, others staggering back to the comrades with wounds gushing blood.

More Romans were now pouring from the camp and onto the ground each side of the road, as the vanguard and those following attempted to get into some sort of formation. But the result was a seething mass of panicking soldiers. I halted my riders about three hundred yards from the camp’s entrance and ordered them to fire arrows at the desperately scrambling figures. Out of the corner of my eye I saw enemy cavalry moving towards us from our left. Scores of horsemen in no discernible formation, but nevertheless riding hard in our direction.

‘Retreat!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. ‘Parthians to cover the rear.’

I pointed at Burebista who was beside me. ‘Go now. Ride back to the trees. We will cover you.’

Hea nodded and wheeled his horse away, as did the other riders. As they galloped towards from whence we had come, around fifty others and I delayed slightly before we followed them. We formed a ragged, widely spaced line of horsemen as the Romans, led by a figure wielding a sword, a red cloak billowing behind him and sporting a helmet similar to mine but with a large red plume, closed on us. The gap between Burebista and my Parthians was increasing at the same time as that between us and the Roman horse was decreasing. The Romans, green-coloured shields on their left side, spears in their right hands and riding in close formation, must have sensed an easy kill as they lowered their lances and prepared to ram them into our backs. But these Romans had obviously never encountered Parthians before, much less our fighting techniques, for as one we pulled arrows from our quivers, strung them, twisted our torsos to bring our bows to bear over our mounts’ hind quarters, and let fly a volley of arrows. If the Romans had been in an open formation the effect of the volley would have been reduced, as it was the shafts flew into a compact mass of horses and riders. Several horses and their riders in the front rank were hit, men falling from saddles and horses collapsing to the ground. Those following careered into the falling and stumbling beasts, while others attempted to avoid the obstacles in front of them but merely succeeded in crashing into other riders. Within seconds the Roman cavalry was a mass of disorganised riders and frightened and rearing horses. Their leader was frantically trying to reform them as I halted the line and ordered another volley to be let loose. I took aim at the officer and released the arrow, but it missed and went into a rider behind him. In the distance I could see a square of legionaries running to reinforce their cavalry, so I shouted for us to retreat once more.

We galloped hard to the tree line, where I found a waiting Burebista and Godarz, both mounted, as my rearguard filed onto the narrow track that wound its way through the trees to the spot that had been our makeshift camp.

‘My men are posted either side of the track, hiding among the trees,’ said Godarz, who had obviously not forgotten his training as a soldier.

‘Good,’ I replied, observing the Roman cavalry now riding hard towards our position. Their leader was clearly determined to get at us. ‘Ride ahead of me. Let them onto the track, then kill as many as you can before their foot arrives. No heroics. We’ve achieved what we came here to do.’

Burebista and Godarz rode ahead as I followed the rearmost rider, glancing back down the track. Then the Roman officer appeared, urging his horse forward and shouting back to his men as he saw me. I nudged Remus forward as the Roman closed on me. As far as he was concerned I was alone and was only moments away from death or capture. His men were following two abreast, their lances held upright.

Either side of the narrow track was a green jumble of fallen branches, long grass and dense brush, from where suddenly erupted the hiss of arrows cutting through the air. The forest was filled with the sound of dull thuds as they hit their targets, lancing through mail shirts to embed themselves in flesh. Riders groaned and either slumped in their saddles or fell to the ground as my bowmen fired arrow after arrow into the line of Roman cavalry. My men were firing from short range — probably no more than fifty feet — and at that distance each missile was finding its mark with deadly effect. Some of the Romans were panicking and attempting to wheel about and flee, but the track was too narrow and congested and their efforts were in vain. Horses, their eyes wild with terror, bolted hither and thither into the trees, knocking over those Romans who had dismounted in an attempt to avoid the hail of arrows. Their officer was frantically trying to rally what was left of his command, but despair had gripped his men and they were not listening to his orders and threats. He saw me standing on Remus, observing his men getting cut own and charged forward, only to crash to the ground when an arrow pierced his horse’s shoulder, sending the animal and rider to the floor. He sprang up, his sword in his hand, and walked towards me.

‘Today you die, scum,’ he spat as he pointed the point of his blade at me. He was brave, I gave him that.

I took off my quiver and hooked its strap on a horn of my saddle, then holstered my bow in its case that was fastened to my saddle. I jumped down and drew my spatha. The Roman attacked me with great slashing movements. He had some skill, I had to admit, and there was strength behind his blows, but his attack was predictable and I parried his sword with ease. He drew back and then launched another attack with a flurry of sword strokes.

‘What’s the matter, vermin,’ he shouted, ‘afraid to fight?’

There is no point in wasting energy on shouting abuse at your opponent — better to concentrate on killing him and shutting him up for good. His blows were getting weaker, only slightly but weaker nevertheless. He screamed with rage and swung his sword again in an attempt to bring it down on my helmet and split my skull, but I saw it coming and leapt aside to his right. As his right arm came down I slashed at it with my sword and cut the flesh of his upper arm. He yelped in pain and dropped his blade. He went to retrieve it but the point of my spatha was at his throat in an instant.

I eased the point into the nape of his neck, but he just stood there.

‘Take off your helmet, Roman.’

As the blood pumped from the deep gash on his right arm he slowly removed his gleaming helmet with his left hand, to reveal a man in his early thirties with a large face, high forehead, hooked nose and short, curly blond hair. His eyes burned with hate as he stood in silence, while behind him his men were dying and the sounds of battle echoed through the trees. I entertained the thought of ramming the blade through his throat, but then decided to toy with him instead.

‘Your men are being slaughtered, Roman,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you would like to join them.’

‘Romans die but Rome always wins, scum,’ he was shaking with rage, or was it fear? I knew not.

‘Your manners are as poor as your sword skills,’ I replied, still holding the point of my blade against his flesh. ‘You should come to Parthia if you want to be a swordsman, or a cavalryman for that matter.’

‘Parthia?’

‘Yes, Roman, for I am a Parthian. Did you not know that by the way we have cut you to pieces?’ I was boasting and enjoying every minute and had completely forgotten about what was happening around me. Fortunately Godarz had not, and he suddenly appeared on his horse beside me.

‘Roman foot, highness, moving fast towards us. Time to go.’

I broke off the battle of stares with the Roman as Godarz blew his horn. Moments later horsemen appeared from the trees, making their way through the foliage onto the track. I looked ahead and could see the track littered with dead and wounded men, riderless horses standing or walking around, and beyond them a column of legionaries marching at double time towards us.

‘Highness!’ shouted Godarz, holding Remus’ reins in his hand.

I glanced at the Roman, sheathed my sword, turned and leapt into the saddle on Remus’ back. As we rode away the Roman, standing amidst the wreckage of his command, shouted after us.

‘I am Tribune Lucius Furius, Parthian, and we will meet again. You hear me, Parthian. We shall meet again!’

We followed the rest of my men along the track, which skirted the top of the tree-covered mountain and brought us down the other side. We rendezvoused at the treeline in front of a large, empty field and Godarz organised a roll call. We had suffer only five men wounded, two with broken bones and three with minor cuts. None of the horses had suffered serious injuries. Afterwards we rode hard through green countryside, passing villas and villages but seeing hardly anyone. Those we did see ran in panic away from the column of dust-covered riders. After two hours the horses were blown, so we found a small wood with a stream not far away and rested them in the shade. I posted guards as saddles were unstrapped and harnesses removed. Groups of horses were led to the stream to be watered, and afterwards each man checked and groomed his mount. Only after the horses’ welfare had been attended to did we ourselves rest and eat a light meal of biscuit and cheese, which had sweated somewhat during the journey. Godarz organised guard rotas as I laid beside a tree, Remus munching grain from a leather nosebag. Once he had finished he came over and sat beside me. Around us men slept as others paced up and down and kept watch.

‘My congratulations, highness. A perfectly executed plan.’

‘Thank you,’ I had to admit that I too was pleased with myself.

‘But you should have killed that Roman.’

In truth I had forgotten about him. ‘I wouldn’t worry about him, they’ve probably executed him for incompetence.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said sternly. ‘He said he was a tribune and that means he is a powerful man, or has powerful friends. He will not forget you.’

‘Really?’ I was unconcerned. He was the last thing on my mind as tiredness swept over me, and I dismissed Godarz so I could get some sleep. All in all it had been a good day, and I said a prayer of thanks to Shamash for protecting me, and hoped Bozan sitting beside him would be pleased at the Roman souls I had offered to him.

We stayed the night there, and in the morning rode south to link up with the main army. We gave Vesuvius a wide berth lest the Romans had sent more cavalry ahead, but in truth we saw no enemy force of any kind, or indeed anyone. The countryside seemed deserted, as it probably was thanks to the spectre of Spartacus.

We picked up the trail of the army easily enough, a vast swathe of trampled grass and churned-up dirt where thousands of feet and hooves had tramped over it. We too dismounted and walked beside our horses, having first posted outriders to ensure we weren’t surprised by any Roman patrols. The day was sunny and warm, our mood relaxed. The men were flushed with victory and their spirits high. Though my Parthians could speak only a smattering of Latin and many of the Dacians and Thracians among us had only a meagre knowledge of the language, there was nevertheless a lively chatter of sorts among the ranks, accompanied by wild and exaggerated hand signals. I sent Nergal ahead with five men to inform Spartacus of our success. Burebista, Rhesus and Godarz walked with me at the head of the column. Godarz was still unhappy.

‘You should have killed him,’ was all he kept saying. Eventually I had had enough.

‘So you keep telling me, Godarz, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m sure there will be other opportunities.’

‘You can be sure of that,’ he said. ‘Roman pride is not a thing to be dented lightly. He won’t rest until he’s avenged his humiliation.’

‘I wish I had killed him,’ I said. ‘That at least would have shut you up. Take five men and ride ahead, Godarz. Find us a good spot for tonight’s camp.’

He saluted stiffly, mounted his horse and rode off. Burebista laughed.

‘He’s like an old woman.’

‘Godarz is a good man,’ I said, ‘but he worries too much. Not like you, Burebista.’

He spat on the ground. ‘Worry is for women. What is there to worry about? I have a horse, a brave captain to follow,’ he grinned at me, ‘a sword in my hand and an unlimited amount of Romans to kill. To a Dacian, this is heaven.’

We camped that night on a hill overlooking a valley dotted with trees and fields. One of my men brought down a deer with his bow so we skinned and cooked it over a fire. After eating little more than biscuits and sweating cheese washed down with water, we ate the meat with relish. Godarz had found the spot and was, I was happy to discover, in a better mood.

‘Spartacus took the bridge over the Silarus River two days ago,’ he told me while chewing meat from a cooked rib. ‘The army is already in Lucania so we’re safe for the time being. Crixus and his Gauls are holding the bridge. As soon as we’re over, Spartacus is going to tear it down.’

I wondered if Crixus was tempted to destroy the bridge before we got across the river. Perhaps not.

‘Any sign of the Romans?’ I asked.

‘None,’ replied Godarz. He went on to tell me that the people of the town of Eburum, only a couple of miles from the river, had shut the gates and cowered behind their walls. Spartacus had no interest in assaulting the place, though predictably Crixus had wanted to unleash his Gauls against it. Nevertheless, Spartacus had sent parties of men into the countryside to plunder all the crops and livestock they could find. It was a rich haul, as Campania in the autumn was a bountiful place. And new recruits were coming in all the time, herdsmen from the hills and valleys, slaves who worked on Campania’s vast estates, and even slaves who had escaped from the towns and had made their way to Spartacus, for our general’s fame, or infamy depending on one’s point of view, had spread. He had gone from being a minor irritant, a runaway slave who would be taken with ease, to the leader of a rebellion that was threatening to engulf the whole of southern Italy.

We rode to the bridge to find it guarded by dozens of wild-looking Gauls armed with Roman shields and an assortment of weapons ranging from wooden clubs to javelins and swords. Tramping across the bridge was a steady stream of mainly men who had no weapons and who were obviously not soldiers. I dismounted and gave the reins of Remus to Nergal, then strode over to where a large Gaul (they all appeared to be large, even their women; I wondered how the Romans ever managed to defeat them) was berating those crossing the bridge.

‘Get a move on, you sons of whores,’ he bellowed at no one in particular. ‘We can’t wait here forever. If you don’t speed up we’ll leave you here to be nailed to crosses. Now move, or I will do it myself.’

His men were lounging each side of the road, making derogatory comments about the latest recruits to the army. Several of them sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons when they saw me approach. Obviously Crixus had made his dislike of me among his own people well known.

‘Who are these people?’ I asked their leader.

He viewed me warily with cold grey eyes, his dark hair hanging lank around his shoulders. ‘Newly freed slaves, or runaways. Come to join Spartacus. Where are the Romans?’

His discourtesy was almost as repellant as the stink coming from his body, but I ignored his curt manner.

‘We gave them a bloody nose. They won’t be here for a while.’ I looked at the long line of men dressed in rags ambling across the river. ‘We need to get across and report to Spartacus. Clear these people out of the way.’

He laughed. ‘You’ll have to wait, either that or swim across.’

The river was wide and obviously deep. The stone bridge across it had five arches that spanned the dark blue and fast-moving water. I walked up to him and faced him.

‘What is your name, Gaul?’

He grinned, revealing a row of black teeth. ‘Tasgetius, captain under Crixus.’

‘You know who I am?’

His smiled disappeared. ‘The Parthian,’ he sneered.

I reached behind my back and pulled my dagger from its sheath, then whipped it up to his throat.

‘Then you know that Parthians never back down, so move these people aside and let us pass. That is an order.’

By now all the Gauls were on their feet and were ready to hack me into small pieces, but the sight of nearly four hundred arrows pointed at them made them hesitate, for my men had divided into two groups and were in front of the Gauls. They now sat in their saddles with their bows ready to fire. I looked directly at Tasgetius. He blinked first.

‘Of course, Parthian, we have no wish to fight you. We are on the same side, are we not?’ He pointed at one of his men. ‘Move these bastards aside. Let the horsemen pass.’

I withdrew my dagger and nodded at him. ‘My thanks, Tasgetius. I shall inform Spartacus personally of your cooperation.’

I vaulted onto Remus’ back and took his reins from Nergal.

‘Making new friends?’ he said sourly.

‘These Gauls are more trouble than they’re worth,’ I said.

‘Isn’t Gallia a Gaul, highness?’

‘She’s different,’ I said, moving Remus forward as the Gauls manhandled the others aside — I wondered how many were already regretting fleeing from their masters?

‘She certainly is,’ he smiled.

We made it over the bridge and rode across country to the camp, a massive, sprawling collection of tents, makeshift canvas shelters and groups of individuals huddled around campfires.

The camp seemed to fill miles of the pain that stopped at the foot of a large mountain chain that ran from east to west. In my absence the number of those following Spartacus had increased markedly, though I wondered how so many new recruits were going to be trained and armed in time to face the Roman army that had been delayed, but only temporarily. Food seemed less of a problem, for the entire plain was filled with thousands of animals — cattle, pigs, sheep, goats, chickens and oxen, some in ramshackle pens, others tied to carts and many more wandering free over the grass. The whole scene resembled a gigantic market day, which would be a bloody day if any Roman forces happened upon it. I said a prayer to Shamash that they would not. Now I realised the huge responsibility Spartacus had entrusted me with, and was pleased that I had not let him down.

In the middle of the multitude was the Roman camp that had stood on the slopes of Vesuvius, dismantled and rebuilt here. Guards stood at the main entrance, which was flanked by wooden watchtowers. On the top of one stood the impish Akmon, who immediately climbed down the ladder when he saw our column.

He raced out of the entrance waving his arms.

‘You can’t bring those horses in here, we’re too crowded as it is. The rest of your lot is camped about a mile away, due west, close to the river.’ He pointed at me. ‘Spartacus wants a report off you before you go.’

I told Nergal to take the men and find the rest of the cavalry, while I dismounted and led Remus into the ‘Roman’ camp. As before, all the tents were arranged in neat lines. Akmon walked beside me along the central avenue towards the command tent. He was clearly unhappy.

‘Too many people. We won’t be able to stay here long.’

‘How many people?’ I asked.

‘Last count, over thirty thousand and more coming in each day. I heard about your little spat with the Romans, your man filled us in on it. Well done, should give us a bit of time.’

‘The camp seems orderly,’ I noted.

He laughed. ‘Of course, Spartacus only lets Thracians and Germans in. Keeps the rest outside.’

‘And Crixus?’ I asked.

He spat on the ground. ‘He gathers all the Gauls to him. He’s chafing at the bit. He wasn’t best pleased that you won a bit of glory.’

‘I can imagine.’

Spartacus stood at the entrance to his tent, which stood around twelve feet in height. He steeped forward and embraced me in an iron grip, slapping me hard on the back as he released me.

‘I knew I could rely on you. Godarz told me all about it. Come inside and have a drink to clear the dust from your throat. Thank you, Akmon.’

His second-in-command saluted and stomped off as we stepped inside, to be greeted by Claudia, Diana and Gallia, the beautiful Gallia, who all stood applauding me. I blushed, not because of their applause but I could once again clasp eyes on the blond-haired beauty who filled my thoughts. Spartacus put an arm round my shoulder.

‘Leave the boy alone, Claudia, and pour us all some wine.’

Gallia strolled over to me, and jabbed a finger hard into my ribs.

‘Don’t ever do that again,’ she hissed.

I was mortified. ‘What?’

‘Leave without saying goodbye. Don’t they have manners in Parthia?’

‘I promise that one day I will take you there and you can judge for yourself.’ I gazed into her blue eyes and totally forget all else there. She smiled and titled her head slightly.

‘I will look forward to that, Prince Pacorus.’

‘Enough,’ barked Spartacus, ‘we have a war to win first.’

I stayed with them until dusk, drinking, eating and talking. I liked these people, and wanted nothing more than to be with them always. Though they were technically under my command, Gallia and Diana stayed in the camp and I was glad for that: at least they had some sort of protection if it was attacked, for I doubted that the Romans would be long delayed. As the sun sank slowly as a red ball in the western sky I walked Remus to the main entrance with Gallia by my side. Spartacus had told me that he was riding into the mountains tomorrow and he wanted me to accompany him, but he would say no more.

‘Do you like fighting?’ asked Gallia.

‘That’s a strange question.’

‘Nergal and Godarz say that you are good at it, so I assume that you enjoy it.’

‘Have my men been gossiping behind my back?’

‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I asked them a question and they answered. I can be very persuasive.’

I did not doubt that. I would promise her the world if she but asked.

‘Well?’ she prompted.

I shrugged. ‘I suppose I was bred for war.’

She was outraged, her nostrils flaring. ‘Bred!’

‘The training of Parthian nobles is arduous. From a baby until I was five my time was spent with my mother and other women of the court, and away from my father. Thereafter I was schooled in running, swimming, horse care, hunting on foot and horseback, fighting with the sword, throwing the spear and javelin, and above all archery. I rode and shot the bow every day for fifteen years. Then, at the age of twenty, I entered the army proper as a member of my father’s bodyguard. So, after all that effort, I hope that I am reasonably competent at the military arts.’

‘The Romans have farms where they breed slaves,’ she said. ‘Places where masters oversee the mating of selected pairs, and in the arena Romans watch chosen pairs butcher each other for their entertainment. It’s disgusting.’

‘Yes it is,’ I said.

She turned and faced me, determination etched on her face. ‘ I will never be a slave again. Promise me that if the worst happens you will kill me rather than let me be taken.’

‘What?’ I was horrified.

Her face showed steely resolve. ‘Promise me!’

‘I promise,’ I replied, though I also promised myself that I would also kill myself immediately afterwards. Where she went, I would follow. She kissed me lightly on the cheek.

‘Thank you.’

Having made such a solemn promise I should have gone to bed with a heavy heart, but all I could think about was her kiss.

The next day I saddled Remus early and waited for Spartacus. He came an hour after dawn accompanied by a man I did not recognise, but whom Spartacus informed me was a local guide who knew the area. I carried a waterskin and food in a saddlebag, plus my sword, dagger, bow and a quiver full of arrows. I also took Nergal and twenty other horsemen with us; who knows what we would encounter?

Spartacus was in high spirits as our horses wound their way up the mountain via narrow passes. The lower slopes were covered with shrubs, but as we climbed they gave way to chestnut and strawberry trees. These in turn gave way to magnificent beeches with trunks covered in lichens. I had never seen such lush vegetation, a far cry from the parched deserts of Parthia. Huge grey boulders jutted out from the green and yellow foliage, while through the treetops I saw goshawks flying overhead and heard the tapping of a woodpecker. It took us two hours of threading through wooded ravines and along and across foaming streams before we reached the summit, riding out onto a rock terrace that presented a stunning view of a wide, green valley below, one that extended as far as the eye could see.

It was a vast green plateau flanked by mountains, with white dots that were villas sprinkled across its extent. Below us, nestling on the plateau a few miles from the mountain we were looking down from, was a walled town. We had a perfect view of its layout of equally sized rectangular blocks of buildings, the whole bisected by straight roads. As usual there were four gates, with a main road running up to and through the town and across the plateau, disappearing into the distance. The lower slopes of the mountains were covered in trees, and the plateau itself was studied with olive groves. This was rich country indeed.

‘Beautiful, is it not?’ sighed Spartacus.

‘Yes, lord,’ I answered.

‘That town is Forum Annii, so my guide tells me. And in two days Crixus and his Gauls are going to take it.’

I was horrified. ‘They will burn it to the ground.’

‘Unhappily, you are right, but he’s been wanting to blood his men for some time now, and I would rather him and his men kill Romans than each other, or other members of my army,’ he looked pointedly at me. ‘The fact is, Pacorus, that your timely triumph gnaws away at Crixus, so I will give him what he wants, a chance to kill Romans.’

‘The man is an animal,’ I spat.

Spartacus laughed. ‘So am I, at least to a Roman, and so are you, my friend.’ It was the first time he had called me friend, and I was at that moment immensely proud. Whatever Spartacus was, he certainly knew how to win men over. ‘The point is that he is idle and angry and has six thousand Gauls who are likewise unoccupied. Besides, the Roman army will be here soon enough so some battle training will come in useful.’

After a brief rest and food to fill our stomachs we rode back to camp. Spartacus called a council of war in the early evening. Present were myself, Spartacus, Nergal, Burebista, Castus, Cannicus, Akmon, Crixus, Oenomaus and Dumnorix. Crixus ignored me throughout, but was delighted when Spartacus revealed his future plans.

‘We need to put some distance between us and Rome, and that means we have to head south, to the Gulf of Tarentum. There we can build and train the army for the march north next spring. Though Pacorus has delayed the advance of the Roman army,’ he nodded towards me, ‘there is no doubt that it will resume its march towards us. Therefore, we need to get over the mountain, onto the plateau and then head south. But before we can move we have to take the Roman town, Forum Annii, which stands in our way. Crixus, I want your men to take it.’

It was the first time that I saw the Gaul smile when he heard this, a giant leer with his eyes bulging at the prospect of plunder. ‘You can rely on us,’ he said, his men slapping him on the back by way of congratulations.

‘Now remember,’ continued Spartacus to us all, ‘the road we travelled down from Vesuvius goes round the mountain and leads to a pass that gives access to the high plateau. It will take two or three days for the army and its animals to get there, but only a few hours for Crixus to get his men up the mountain.’

‘What garrison does the town have?’ asked Castus.

‘Who cares about the garrison?’ said Crixus before Spartacus could reply, ‘they will die along with the rest.’

I looked at Spartacus but there was no expression on his face.

‘Listen,’ said Spartacus to Crixus. ‘You will need scaling ladders and maybe a battering ram. There are plenty of trees on the slopes, so make use of all the wood and get your men ready. They are to attack Forum Annii the day after tomorrow. Any questions?’

There were none.

The next day Crixus and his men went about cutting down wood with gusto, no doubt rehearsing on trees what they would be doing to people the day after. The Gauls were full of enthusiasm, I gave them that, but their coarse language and dishevelled appearance made me shudder. I went to see Castus during the morning as Godarz and Nergal sent out cavalry patrols to the river and allocated new recruits to companies. We had increased our number of horsemen by a hundred, but there was no time to train them in tactics or the use of the bow, so they were given a spear and told to obey their commanders. They wouldn’t be any use in battle, but if they survived the march to the sea they could be turned into cavalrymen.

Castus was in his usual good spirits, the more so because his command had been enlarged markedly by the march through Campania.

‘Four thousand Germans now, Pacorus,’ he said, proudly, ‘though only half have decent weapons. The rest have clubs and wooden spears. Still, it’s a start.’

‘Indeed it is,’ I was pleased for him. He was a good man and his men were under tighter control than Crixus’ Gauls.

‘There’s over thirty thousand in camp,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘Southern Italy is nothing but farms and herds of animals, and who are the people who work in the fields and tend to the herds? Slaves.’

‘And gladiators,’ I said.

He smiled. ‘Them too.’

I rode to the Silarus River that afternoon with Gafarn, Gallia, Godarz and Diana. For some reason I was feeling morose and wanted some pleasant company. Its waters were black and fast flowing, and the sky was heaped with dark clouds. It was still warm, but the days were no longer hot and the nights were getting cooler. The Gauls had done a poor job destroying the bridge (why was I not surprised), and though the parapets had been knocked into the river only two of the five arches had been wholly demolished.

‘It won’t take the Romans long to rebuild it,’ Godarz must have been reading my mind.

‘How long do you think we’ve got?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘Two days at the most.’

I dismounted and walked over to a group of soldiers guarding the bridge. There were ten of them, all wearing mail shirts, helmets and carrying Roman shields, spears and swords. Thracians, I assumed by their long black hair and lack of hostility towards me.

‘Any movement on the far bank?’ I asked their commander.

‘Not till now,’ he said, pointing his spear behind me. I turned to see a group of horsemen galloping down the roads towards the bridge. Their green shields indicated that we had met before.

‘Gafarn,’ I shouted, ‘get Gallia and Diana away from here.’

Gallia was indignant. ‘Why? They cannot fly across the river.’

‘I’ll show you why,’ I shouted, vaulting into Remus’ saddle and pulling my bow from its case. The Romans slowed their mounts when they reached the bridge, the horses walking onto the bridge and then halting, I strung an arrow and let it fly. It hit the foremost rider square in the chest, knocking his out of his saddle. The Thracians cheered wildly, though as I strung another arrow I saw a look of horror on Diana’s face and Gallia had gone deathly pale.

I turned to Gafarn. ‘Now get them out of here and back to camp.’ He grabbed the reins of their horses and led them away. The Romans turned and fled, though not before I had knocked another out of his saddle with a shot that hit the rearmost rider in the middle of his back. I ordered Godarz to ride to Spartacus’ headquarters to inform him of the news, and watched as Gallia and Diana rode off, while the Thracians looked decidedly nervous.

‘Don’t worry,’ I told them, ‘it’s just a scouting party.’

The remaining Romans halted a safe distance from the bridge, and they were soon joined by a score of others riding hard towards them. One was wearing an officer’s helmet with a rich red plume and a red cloak that billowed behind him. I nudged Remus onto the bridge and walked him to where the first arch had been knocked into the river. The Romans, stationary now, looked on as I held my bow aloft and then slowly and deliberately placed it back in its case. Then I waited. Remus flicked his white tail nonchalantly. The Roman officer suddenly kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and galloped towards me. He halted his mount on the far side of the damaged bridge and took off his helmet. I recognised him instantly.

‘Tribune Furius,’ I shouted, ‘are you intent on getting yourself killed?’

He looked at the two dead soldiers on the ground. ‘Enjoy your small victories, Parthian, you will be nailed to a cross soon enough.’

‘You conversations are becoming repetitive, Roman.’

‘That’s a fine horse you have stolen,’ he shouted back. ‘ I promise to take good care of him when you are dead.’

‘Thank you,’ I hollered, ‘but he’s coming to Parthia with me.’

‘You will never see Parthia, I promise that.’

I was getting bored and thus decided to bring this shouting match to an end. I raised my hand.

‘Until the next time, Roman.’ I turned Remus away and walked him back to where the Thracians stood. ‘How far do you think those other riders are from where we stand?’ I asked their commander.

‘Hard to tell, sir, about five hundred yards, maybe more.’

I turned Remus around to face the river and drew my bow.

‘You’ll never hit them from this distance,’ he said.

I looked at him, pulled an arrow from my quiver, strung it and took aim. Furius was riding back to his men when I loosed the arrow, which arched into the air and then curved back towards the ground. I don’t know if it pierced the mail shirt of the man it hit, but his horse reared up and he fell to the ground, spreading panic among the other rides. The Thracians cheered again.

‘Stay here,’ I told them. ‘Spartacus will send reinforcements.’

But Spartacus came himself, marching on foot at the head of a long column of troops, all well armed. The stubby legs of Akmon marched beside him.

‘It’s just a scouting party,’ I told him.

He shook his head. ‘Their army will be here tomorrow morning.’ He turned to Akmon. ‘We’ll break camp tonight and march through the night. Pacorus, I know it may pain you, but ride to Crixus and tell him that he must attack Forum Annii at first light. And tell him he has to take the town. I don’t want a garrison in front of me and an army behind me.’

I saluted and galloped away. The Gauls’ camp was a sprawling mass of makeshift canvas tents, wicker windbreaks and cooking fires, a far cry from the well-ordered camps of Spartacus and Castus, but it was far larger. As I rode among the shelters I saw men working frantically on constructing scaling ladders from tree branches. I had to admit that there was a real sense of urgency about them. Most ignored me as I rode to find their leader, though some gave me a menacing sideways glance as I passed. I found him stripped to the waist and wielding a large axe against the base of a tree. He was sweating profusely as he swung the weapon and cleaved another chunk of wood from the trunk. He stopped when he saw me. There was a large group of his warriors admiring his handiwork with an axe.

‘Well, if it isn’t the prince of Parthia. What do you want, boy?’

Gritting my teeth, I dismounted. ‘Greetings from Spartacus. The Romans are at the river. He asks that you lead your men up the mountain and attack the town at first light.’

The mention of the Romans aroused his curiosity, as he stopped what he was doing and even forget his animosity towards me. ‘How many?’

‘Just a cavalry patrol, but their army won’t be far behind.’

He called over Oenomaus. ‘Get everyone ready. We move this afternoon. Where’s that guide Spartacus promised me?’

‘He’s eating porridge outside your tent,’ said Oenomaus.

‘Bring him to me, I want to make sure he doesn’t run away before he serves his purpose. Go.’

His men dispersed, leaving us alone. The silence was awkward. Crixus, his muscled, bear-like torso covered in swirling blue tattoos, picked up a tunic and put it on.

‘It was brave of you to come alone, boy,’ he said at last, pouring water over himself from a bucket, ‘I hear you usually have to have your archers to back you up before you dare face a Gaul.’

He was obviously commenting on my disagreement with some of his men at the bridge. ‘Your men are indisciplined,’ I said, matching his stare.

He laughed. ‘All will be settled in time, Parthian. Now go and play with your horses.’

He picked up the axe, slung it on his shoulder and walked past me. I did not doubt that we would be settling the animosity between us soon enough, but not today.

It took hours for the army to get on the road leading to Forum Annii, not helped by the descending darkness and the steady rain that began to fall soon after dusk. Camp fires were stoked higher and left to burn to give the impression that we were staying put, but anyone with half a mind would have been able to tell that thousands of people and animals were on the move, the shouts and curses and hordes of individuals trying to get on the road and the bellowing and lowing of cattle. Byrd organised the packing of our equipment into carts that had been taken at Nola. The town, or rather its inhabitants, had been generous in supplying a large quantity of equipment for the cavalry, and now Byrd was stacking large buckets, pitch forks, brooms, wheelbarrows, halters, lead ropes, hoof picks, combs, brushes and saddle clothes onto a long line of carts. Another two carts were stacked high with spare arrows, which were covered with waterproof hides to keep the water off them. Byrd’s temper was rising as he became increasingly irritated by the apparent lack of progress a group of new recruits was making in getting the carts loaded. I told him to calm down, not least because the cavalry and its equipment would be the last to leave the camp, as we would form the rearguard.

Godarz, as usual, was taking everything in his stride. Having instructed Byrd to load the carts, he was now stood in front of a fire briefing two of my company commanders on what to pack on the mules that weren’t pulling carts.

‘Don’t overload them or they won’t move at all. And there’s no use in beating them. That will make them more obstinate. Treat them like your women and use soft words if you want to tease the best out of them.’

‘But I always thrash my women,’ said one cocky young Parthian in reply.

‘Then you’re an idiot,’ said Godarz, ‘and will die childless and alone. Now go.’

He saw me and raised his hand in salute, his face wearing a frown.

‘Problems?’ I enquired.

‘Just the usual, not enough time. Let’s hope the Romans don’t like marching in the rain.’

‘Use the new recruits to guard the carts,’ I said. ‘They will be useless if we have to fight the Romans while covering the army’s retreat, and I don’t want to lose valuable horses. And unguarded carts are a temptation for any thieving low-life that this army seems to be full of. Do we have enough weapons to equip each new recruit?’

‘Spears, yes,’ said Godarz, ‘but not swords.’

‘Mmm. There’s no point in giving them swords anyway, it takes a lot of training to be able use one with competence. I hate this rain.’

‘Perhaps the Parthians should guard the carts, lord, and the new recruits can be slaughtered by the Romans. That will save you the trouble of training them,’ he mused.

‘What?’

‘It must be very taxing for a prince to be constantly surrounded by low-life.’

I realised that I had offended him. ‘Godarz, I didn’t mean…’

‘These people have nothing, Pacorus. Nothing. They have joined Spartacus because he has given them a glimmer of hope. The hope that they can live as free men. They do not deserve to be talked of as you have just talked of them. The only things they have are the clothes on their back, some not even that. If you think that they are not fit to ride beside you then tell them, at least have the courtesy for that. And now, if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.’

With that he saluted and stomped off, leaving me suitably crestfallen. It started to rain harder, thus increasing my misery. It improved somewhat when I rode to see Spartacus at the bridge, accompanied by Akmon whose gangly arms and awkward gait always made me smile.

All three of us walked onto the bridge and stared into the blackness. I could see no campfires, which was a relief.

‘They appear to have gone,’ I said, trying to reassure myself.

‘They’re there all right,’ sniffed Akmon. ‘Probably a few miles down the road, all nicely tucked up in their tents in their camp.’

‘They will be here in the morning,’ said Spartacus, ‘by which time we will have stolen half a day’s march on them, and Crixus will also have hopefully captured Forum Annii. Pacorus, you remember that plateau that the town is situated on?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s where we will fight the Roman army.’

‘You think we can beat them, Spartacus?’ asked Akmon.

‘We have to, otherwise we’ll be running forever. And anyway, the plain is wide and we outnumber them, which means we can outflank them, and we have more cavalry than they do which means we can get behind them.’ I could tell that he had thought through his plan carefully.

‘Roman armies don’t worry about numbers,’ said Akmon.

‘But we have trained our men to fight like Romans, so we will be using their own tactics against them,’ replied Spartacus. ‘Is your cavalry ready, Pacorus?’

‘Ready, lord,’ I said, proudly.

‘So are my Thracians and Castus’ Germans.’

‘And the Gauls?’ queried Akmon.

‘Crixus is a born fighter,’ said Spartacus. ‘Wild, certainly, but he and his men want to kill Romans and I want such soldiers in my army.’

As we stood in the darkness with only a few small fires burning beside the road, I wondered if Spartacus was trying to convince himself as well as us. From what I could gather, he and Crixus had never been friends, more like uneasy allies. The Gaul had never challenged Spartacus’ authority, but I reckoned it was only a matter of time before the two of them clashed; it was only a mater of time before Crixus and I clashed. But in the meantime we had a Roman garrison to subdue and a Roman army to destroy.

As the night wore on it became increasingly cooler as the rain turned from a light drizzle into a hard, pelting downpour.