Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (38 page)

‘Is this space free, friend?’ I asked.

‘I’m not your friend,’ he said without looking up.

‘There was a time when you regarded me as one, Burebista.’

He looked up, his visage wearing a countenance of annoyance. It changed in an instant when he recognised me. He jumped up.

‘Lord, is it you? Are you a vision sent by Zalmoxis or are you real?’

Zalmoxis was the chief god that the Dacians worshipped.

I walked around the end of the bench and held out my arm.

‘I am very real, my friend.’

He locked me in an embrace. When he released me there were tears in his eyes, and in truth in mine. I thanked Shamash that He had granted me this moment of pure joy.

‘Sit, lord, sit.’

He laughed and held his head in his hands. ‘I cannot believe that it is you and you are here. What divine intervention brings you to Ephesus?’

‘To liberate you, Burebista. To free you as our lord would have desired, even though he died in Italy.’

Burebista waved over a slave and ordered her to bring a cup for me and fill it with wine.

‘I have never forgotten Spartacus, lord. I have often thought that if I kept myself alive then his memory would still live. Until now I believed that I was the only member of the army of Spartacus still alive.’

‘Not the only one, Burebista. There are others.’

The slave returned with a cup and another in tow with a jug of wine. As she poured it I began to tell Burebista about the flight of the Companions from Italy, my return to Parthia, being given the crown of Dura and the subsequent civil war in Parthia. Of how Gallia was now Queen of Dura and Domitus the commander of its army and how a Cretan sea captain had travelled to my city to inform me that he would be fighting in the arena at Ephesus. He in turn told me how he had been captured after the breakout at Rhegium but had been expected to die from his wounds. However, Crassus had taken a personal interest in his welfare and assigned him expert medical care.

‘I spent a year being nursed back to health, lord, during which time the Appian Way was decorated with the bodies of six thousand members of Spartacus’ army nailed to crosses. They were left to rot as an example of what happens to those who challenge Rome’s rule.

‘I expected the same punishment but when I had fully recovered I was sold as a gladiator to the
Ludus
Capua.’ He looked at the other nine men sat at the table. ‘These men are from the same school, the best of our lanista’s fighters, personally chosen by him to grace Ephesus’ arena.’

He pushed another slice of pomegranate into his mouth and chewed slowly.

‘And now I fight as a horseman in mockery of my time with Spartacus, a living reminder to spectators that Rome defeated its greatest threat.’

I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Your time of torment is at an end, my friend.’

‘What’s this? Is this your Greek lover, Burebista?’

I heard the deep, mocking voice behind me and turned to see a large brute with a wild moustache, even wilder long hair and a round, pale face. I saw the swirling blue tattoos decorating his flesh, a gold torc around his neck and I was transported back to Italy. He was big, bold and had fire in his eyes and for a moment I thought that Crixus had returned from the dead.

‘Watch your words, Acco,’ hissed Burebista, ‘I would not wish to spill your blood before we begin the games and send your soul to whatever black abyss the Gauls call hell.’

The Gaul roared with laughter. ‘The day a Dacian can beat me is the day I will slit my own throat.’

I stood slowly as the Gaul turned his attention to me.

‘What’s your story?’

He spoke in Latin with an accent similar to Gallia’s. He exuded confidence and disdain.

‘None of your business, Gaul,’ I answered.

‘You should have a care, Acco,’ said Burebista, ‘this is Pac…’

‘My name is Nikephorus,’ I interrupted hurriedly, ‘and I am a Parthian.’

He studied me for a few seconds, his eyes settling on the scar on my cheek.

‘I’ve heard that the Parthians fight on horseback so they can run away quickly in battle. Real men fight on foot so they can get close to their enemies.’

I sighed. I had heard it all many times before from Crixus and his boorish companions. I was about to reply when Drenis, Arminius and Surena appeared behind Acco.

‘Do we have a problem,’ enquired Drenis calmly.

Acco spun round to face them as the gladiators at the table looked up and began to take an interest in what was happening. Acco looked at the Thracian with the short-cropped hair and facial scars.

‘You’re not a Parthian,’ he said.

‘Thracian,’ growled Drenis.

‘And I am Surena of the Ma’adan, barbarian,’ announced my former squire, staring hatefully at Acco and folding his thick arms across his chest.

‘Am I supposed to be impressed?’ asked Acco.

‘You will be,’ sneered Surena.

‘He’s just a boy,’ said one of the gladiators at the table, ‘leave him alone. Acco.’

Surena switched his attention to the man who had spoken, glaring at him.

‘Come here and say that to my face,
slave
, and I will cut out your tongue.’

The gladiator jumped up but I held out an arm.

‘He meant no offence. Surena, be quiet.’ I looked at Drenis and Arminius. ‘Get him out of here. It’s fine.’

Drenis nodded towards Burebista. ‘Is that him?’

‘It is,’ I replied.

‘Just a minute,’ said Acco, pointing at Surena. ‘I haven’t finished with him.’

‘Yes you have, Gaul,’ I stated.

Two other gladiators at the table and Burebista stood as Drenis and Arminius squared up to Acco. The air was tingling with the threat of impending violence.

‘You lot sit down,’ ordered a centurion who appeared next to Burebista, ‘save your fighting for the arena where you belong.’

Acco now had a new target to try his intimidation on. ‘Why don’t you go away before I shove that cane up your arse?’

The centurion tucked his cane in his belt and ordered over four legionaries before drawing his sword. Now all the gladiators at the table rose to their feet. Surena walked forward to stand beside me.

‘We’ve beaten Romans before, lord.’

‘Shut up!’ I ordered as Acco squared up to the centurion, both unyielding in their stares. The legionaries also drew their swords as they closed behind their commander. The other gladiators slowly moved to stand on the flank of the legionaries, unconcerned that they were unarmed. A sudden blast of trumpets interrupted the stand-off, gladiators and Roman soldiers alike turning their attention to the source of the sound. I too looked round to see the obese figure of Timini Ceukianus flanked by two centurions and standing before six trumpeters and a small phalanx of legionaries. The din in the hall died down as all eyes turned to stare at the fat Roman. Ceukianus waited until there was silence, or at least a modicum of quiet interrupted only by men throwing up, belching and talking in inebriated gibberish.

‘Tomorrow,’ he began, ‘the games begin and each of you have a part to play in ensuring that they are a success. As you partake of this lavish feast remember that it is Rome that has paid such hospitality, that it is Rome that allows you to live and that you are condemned men because you committed crimes against Rome.

‘Though you are all from different parts of the world that world belongs to Rome. It has always been so and will always be so. No race can stand against Rome much less a group of condemned men. So eat and drink well and face your fate like men, not animals. In this way you will pay for your crimes in this life and save your souls for the next.’

He turned and signalled to the trumpeters, who sounded their instruments and shook the hall with their blasts. Then the magistrate with a large double chin and podgy, effeminate fingers waddled from the hall, followed by his escort. Within seconds of his departure the crowd’s boisterousness returned as the banquet’s attendees, taking Ceukianus’ words to heart, indulged themselves even more.

Acco, bored, had wandered off, the gladiators had returned to their seats and the centurion and his men continued to patrol the crowd. Burebista grinned and indicated to Drenis and Arminius that they should sit with me. I grabbed Surena’s tunic and pulled him down beside me.

‘You carry on like that, boy,’ Burebista said to him, ‘and you will not see the morning.’

He nodded at the seated gladiators at the other end of the table.

‘They are the finest gladiators in Capua whose swords have despatched many young fools like you.’

Surena looked unimpressed but remained quiet.

‘So,’ I said to Burebista, ‘how do we get you out of here?’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t, lord. I am condemned to the games, which means I am either locked up or under guard at all times.’

‘Why don’t we create a diversion here?’ suggested Arminius. ‘Pacorus can get you out while the guards are distracted.’

‘There is a ship waiting for us in the harbour,’ I said.

Burebista’s head dropped. ‘If I escape then my wife will be executed.’

‘Your wife?’ I said.

‘Her name is Anca and she is a slave in the
ludus
. We have been married for over a year.’

‘She is in Italy?’ asked Drenis.

Burebista shook his head. ‘She was allowed to come to Ephesus with me, to ensure that I perform well in the arena and also as a reminder of the lanista’s hold over me. So you see escape is quite impossible.’

‘We can rescue you both,’ stated Surena boldly.

Burebista leaned back and examined the long-haired young man with broad shoulders and clean-shaven face.

‘You are either a fool or the bravest person in Ephesus,’ he said.

‘He’s a fool,’ offered Drenis.

I heard the sickening sound of a limb being broken and turned to see Acco shattering the arm of a poor unfortunate who had picked a fight with him. The man began screaming and thrashing around until Acco knocked him unconscious and roared with triumph.

‘Acco is a famous gladiator from Rome,’ said Burebista, ‘who won his freedom and who has been tempted out of retirement by a large appearance fee.’

‘He reminds me of Crixus,’ I said. ‘A tower of brute strength and aggression.’

‘Who’s Crixus?’ asked Surena.

‘Another beast from Gaul,’ Arminius told him. ‘He was a close friend of Pacorus.’

‘Really?’ said Surena.

‘No, not really,’ I answered.

‘I have fought in the same arena as him,’ continued Burebista. ‘He’s a man who lives, eats, breathes and sleeps combat. He fights with two swords.’

‘A
Dimachaerus
,’ said Drenis.

Burebista nodded. ‘A very dangerous one.’

‘I will work out how to get you and your wife out of here, Burebista,’ I said. ‘That I promise.’

‘You did well to get in here,’ he said to us all. ‘Masquerading as gladiators was very clever.’

Drenis ran a hand over his scalp. ‘We are not masquerading as gladiators, Burebista.’ He pointed at me. ‘Pacorus decided that it would be a good idea to infiltrate the games here as real gladiators. We will be appearing with you in the arena tomorrow.’

Burebista was wide-eyed with disbelief. ‘Only fools or mad men volunteer to fight in the arena.’

Arminius held out a hand to me. ‘Can I introduce you to King Pacorus of Dura, famous warlord, dreamer and regarded by many around this table as the biggest fool east of Ephesus.’

Chapter 9

None of us drank or ate to excess at the banquet, especially Surena who was under the watchful eyes of Drenis and Arminius, and so we left the festivities in a sober state. But I was feeling euphoric. Burebista was alive and I was convinced that we could save him and his wife. Admittedly the details had yet to be worked out but I believed that the gods were on our side and things would turn out to our advantage.

‘Every man who enters the arena believes that the gods are on his side, Pacorus,’ said Drenis as we relaxed after Lysander had shown us the way home. ‘And most end up dead.’

I paced up and down the room, my body tingling with excitement. ‘Ever since Athineos told me that Burebista was here I have believed that the gods wanted me to come here, Drenis, and nothing that has happened to date has convinced me otherwise.’

Gallia, her hair loose around her shoulders, was confused. ‘How can a gladiator, a slave, be allowed to marry?’

‘Top gladiators are too lucrative for their owner to be allowed to die needlessly as a result of too many fights,’ Arminius told her. ‘Burebista might only fight four or five times a year, perhaps less, so there’s plenty of time for him to marry. Spartacus was married, if you remember. Besides the
lanista
will want to keep him happy, so allowing him to marry is a sensible policy.’

‘Makes our task more difficult, though,’ remarked Domitus.

Lysander appeared with a jug of wine from the kitchens. I turned to him.