The Parthian (24 page)

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.