The Parthian (25 page)

‘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.