The Parthian (27 page)

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.