The Parthian (37 page)

‘They seem happy,’ I said of the men who were laughing and joking in groups on the sand.

‘Yes, they do. Are you happy, Pacorus?’

‘Always, when I’m with you,’ I kissed her on the cheek.

She rested her head on her shoulder. ‘I too.’

The both of us stayed on the beach until the dawn broke in the eastern sky, along with dozens of snoring drunk and semi-drunk soldiers who woke with hangovers on a calm and windless day. I felt a surge of joy sweep through me as I became aware of Gallia’s head on my chest as she slept. I wanted the moment to last forever as, bleary eyed, I watched the seagulls fly and hover over a calm blue sea. Perhaps this could be our future, just the two of us and no one else, no Romans and no wars. I dreamed of perfection but out of the corner of my eye I saw reality, as one of my men bent over and threw up on the sand. Others held their heads, which were obviously throbbing after a night of heavy drinking. The price of ‘liberating’ wine from the Romans. Others stripped off and walked naked into the sea in an attempt to refresh themselves. I rested my head back on the sand and looked up at the clear blue sky. Suddenly the panting figure of Rubi was beside us, frantically tugging at Gallia’s sleeve, who woke up with a start. Rubi was making grunting noises and pointing behind us. She was almost as tiresome as Praxima.

‘What is it, Rubi?’ asked Gallia, who rose and brushed the sand from her clothes.

I too rose and turned to see what she was pointing at, and saw on the horizon what looked like a column of horse and foot on a distant crest of a hill, heading towards us. Panic suddenly gripped me as I realised that no sentries had been posted the night before. How could I have so stupid, again? This was just like the day when we had been captured. Had I learned nothing? Perhaps that old Roman at the villa had pursued me with a town garrison? I cursed myself and reached down for my sword, hurriedly buckling it to my belt.

‘Enemy! Enemy forces approaching! Rally to me,’ I screamed at all who would listen.

For a few seconds nothing happened, apart from a few dazed individuals staring at me with irritation as my shrieking voice added to their headaches. Then their fuddled minds grasped the significance of what I was saying, and suddenly the beach was a scene of chaos. Men waded ashore to grab weapons and clothing and race to where their horses were tethered. Others still asleep were kicked awake, pulled to their feet and told to saddle their horses. Gallia and I ran to where our horses were, Gallia pulling Rubi along with her, who bizarrely seemed to be loving the sense of impending doom that was spreading over us. I threw a cloth and saddle onto Remus’ back, buckled the straps and then fitted his bridle. Gafarn and Diana emerged from behind a distant sand dune, both of them running fit to burst. I ran to the top of a nearby dune to see where the enemy was, and spied a solid mass of foot steadily marching towards our position, no more than three miles away, I guessed. The enemy horse was flanking each side of the column of foot, with a small mounted party at the head of the whole force.

Nergal galloped up to us as I fastened my waterskin, rations, bow case and rolled-up cloak to the saddle. I threw on my mail shirt, helmet and quiver and mounted Remus.

‘There are hundreds of them, highness,’ he said.

‘We have to get off the beach. Form up inland on firm ground.’

‘What about the carts and mules?’

‘Leave them here,’ I said. ‘They will only slow us up. Better to live than die with a saddlebag stuffed full of gold. Go.’

We managed to deploy into a two-rank line a short distance inland from the beach, facing the direction from where the enemy was approaching. The latter had made no effort to increase their pace or deploy into battle formation. Indeed, they seemed oblivious to us. As I sat just forward of the first line beside Nergal, I debated our course of action. Though we had been surprised, the enemy had failed to take advantage of this. As they heavily outnumbered us I decided that the most prudent course of action would be a hasty retreat, though it galled me that we would have to leave the booty we had taken. I was just about to turn about when Nergal spoke.

‘They have no shields.’

‘What’ I said.

‘They have no shields, highness. In fact, those on foot don’t have weapons at all, or uniforms.’

I stared at the black mass approaching and he was right. No shields, no spears and they were not wearing helmets. Then one of the horsemen broke from the group at the head of the column and began to gallop towards us.

‘Ready!’ I shouted. It was obviously some sort of fanatic who wanted to make a name for himself. He would be the first to die.

‘It’s Burebista,’ said Nergal.

‘What?’

‘It’s Burebista.’ Nergal kicked his horse forward and rode to greet him, while behind me the two lines erupted in cheers. I too rode forward to meet the commander of my last raiding column. He was beaming like a man who had found a chest of gold.

‘We thought you were Romans,’ I told him. ‘Who are those with you?’

‘Recruits, lord,’ he replied. ‘All these men can ride so I asked them to join us.’

‘And they accepted your invitation?’ I looked past Burebista to where the column was trudging towards us. They looked a ragged band to say the least.

‘I told them that they would be serving under “the Parthian”. They have all heard of you, lord, and I told them that they would have a horse, weapons and an unending supply of Romans to kill. They took little convincing.’

I doubted that all of them could ride, but no matter, he had done well. Burebista had an infectious enthusiasm that drew men to him like a moth to a flame.

‘How many are there’ asked Nergal.

‘Seven hundred,’ he replied, proudly.

I extended my hand in congratulations. He had done better than any of us and deserved praise. And now he had his dragon.

‘Has there been a battle?’ he said to me though he was looking past me.

‘Battle?’

‘There, lord,’ he pointed behind me. I turned in the saddle to see a large plume of black smoke ascending into the morning sky. It was many miles away but it could mean only thing: Metapontum had fallen to Spartacus.

After a rest of two hours, during which we groomed, watered and fed the horses and ate a late breakfast, we moved southwest along the coast towards Metapontum. The terrain was flat and crisscrossed by large fields growing wheat, olives and grapes, though the wheat had already been harvested and only the olives and grapes remained. But there was no one to do so, as the slaves had all fled to join us or make their own bid for freedom. I noticed the absence of cattle and sheep, all of which had no doubt been taken on the orders of Spartacus. I sent out patrols ahead, more to cover our right flank and riders behind us to ensure we were not surprised, but in truth there appeared to be no Roman troops anywhere near us; indeed, there appeared to be few Romans of any type at all. I wondered if those who had lived in villas in the countryside had taken refuge in Metapontum? The thickening large plume of smoke that hung in the sky indicated that they had chosen unwisely.

During the journey I went to see for myself the calibre of Burebista’s new recruits. For the most part they were barefoot and dressed in threadbare tunics, their exposed arms and legs weathered and tanned by a harsh Mediterranean sun. I was told that farm slaves owned only one tunic and cloak, which was replaced every two years, by which time many were all but naked. I saw ankles with deep scars where leg irons had been worn for years, and some who had the marks of the lash on their limbs. Others had the letters ‘FUG’, ‘KAL’ and ‘FUR’ branded on their foreheads, abbreviations of Latin words denoting ‘runaway’, ‘liar’ or ‘thief’ respectively. Some of these individuals had misshapen limbs where their bones had been broken as a punishment for their crimes. Slaves who killed their masters were crucified, but the Romans had a curiously ambivalent attitude towards their chattels. Slaves were an expense and as such were an investment. A dead slave was a financial loss, so the Romans were reluctant to kill them outright. Far better to whip them, brand them and then set them back to work under the watchful eye of an overseer. I thought about our own slaves in Hatra and wondered if they too were mistreated. I dismissed the idea, and yet the thought of hundreds of individuals living their lives in servitude for the sole purpose of maintaining the high living standards of my father and his family and court made me uneasy. Gafarn himself had been a slave, of course, and in all the years I had known him I had never asked him if he was satisfied with his lot. Why should I? I was a prince and he was a slave. But now, in a foreign land and fighting for a slave general, my head was filled with strange ideas. I wanted to be free and so did the hundreds of others who now marched with me. Where they so different from me?

I dismounted Remus and walked alongside a group of Burebista’s new recruits. It was around noon now, and the day was warm though not hot, with a light breeze coming from the sea. As I walked along the dirt track I caught the eye of a man walking parallel to me, a thin, lean individual in his fifties whose arms were covered in scratches and small scars and who carried a walking stick in his right hand. He was striding along purposely, his feet bare and his head bald.

‘He’s a fine horse, sir.’

‘Yes, he is,’ I said. ‘His name is Remus.’

‘Are you the one they call “the Parthian”, sir?’

‘Prince Pacorus, yes.’

‘An honour to meet you, sir. My name is Amenius.’

‘You are from these parts?’

‘Not originally. I was captured in Macedonia over thirty years ago. Have been a slave ever since. Always promised myself that I would end my days in my homeland. Have you been to Macedonia, sir?’

‘No, never.’

‘Beautiful it is. Mountains and valleys, and the air the purest you’ve ever breathed. There’s not a day goes by when I don’ think about it.’

I was humbled by his fortitude. Thirty years a slave and still the dream of freedom burned within him. With such men perhaps Spartacus could indeed defeat Rome.

‘I hope you see your homeland again, Amenius,’ I said.

It took us all day to reach Metapontum, and as the evening crept upon us our column reached the outer ring of sentries that had been posted to warn of any relief force. I was riding with the advance party when we came across a motley band of Gauls who were preparing a fire for their evening meal. A pony was tethered nearby to speed a rider to warn the army if we had been Romans. Their leader, a young man with bristly fair hair and a large moustache typical of his race, stood up and walked over to me. They must have recognised us, or me at least, for the others ignored us and carried on with their culinary preparations.

‘The city fell this morning,’ he said.

‘Where’s Spartacus?’ I asked.

He pointed down the track. ‘The Thracians are camped behind their wooden palisade to the north of the city. We Gauls took it, on our own.’

‘My congratulations,’ I said without any enthusiasm, for I knew that the streets would be running with blood by now.

With that I nudged Remus forward and carried on past them. Behind us the rest of the column was appearing, riders walking their mounts and the former slaves shuffling along silently. They made almost no sound, as their feet were bare, unlike Roman soldiers with their hobnailed sandals who could be heard for miles, especially when they marched down a stone-paved road. I rode back and instructed Nergal to pitch camp a mile down the track and wait for me there. I took Gafarn, Gallia, Diana, Praxima and Rubi as well, as I didn’t want then out of my sight with thousands of blood-crazed Gauls in the vicinity. Ten minutes later we were at the gates of the camp that Akmon built wherever the army was located, looking exactly as it did on previous occasions with its neat rows of tents and perfectly aligned avenues. Spartacus and Claudia were glad to see us and I they, and there were many embraces before he insisted that we sit with them and share a meal. As usual Claudia was the cook, but Spartacus insisted that we all help. Later, as we sat, ate, joked and drank wine, Spartacus told us how Metapontum fell to Crixus and his Gauls. Like most Roman cities it was enclosed by a wall, in its case four miles in length. Curiously, though it was inland from the coast, it was linked to the sea by a canal around five miles long. On the day the army arrived some of the citizens had tried to escape using the waterway, but the canal was only forty feet wide and Spartacus had ordered his men to line the banks. When the boats loaded down with human cargo came within range they were showered with rocks, stones, flaming torches and
pila
. Half a dozen boats tried to make a run for the sea but all were stopped and set alight. Most of their passengers were burned alive, some drowned and a few made it to the canal banks, where they were hacked to pieces. No more boats left the city.

I noticed that Spartacus continually drained and refilled his cup with wine as he recounted how he had ordered the city to be surrounded. After a week, during which the garrison and citizens had had enough time to see the strength of the army that lay before their walls, under a flag of truce Spartacus had offered the inhabitants safe passage if they took with them only the clothes they were dressed in.

‘But we are only slaves, and after they had opened the gates to allow the envoy to deliver his message they killed him, cut off his head and threw it from the city walls.’ Spartacus took another mouthful of wine.

‘What followed was a slaughter. I was foolish, you see, because it was a Gaul that was sent as an envoy. And when Crixus saw what had happened he unleashed his men against the walls. At first they took heavy losses, many being cut down by arrows and javelins, but the citizens had forgotten that if boats could leave their city via the canal, then men could easily get in the same way. Crixus had selected those who could swim to jump into the canal and swim into the harbour. I have to admit it was a cunning plan, and while the garrison manned the walls his men swept into the city like a plague of rats. Then the screaming started, and went on for hours. Only when it was over did they throw open the gates and let us in.’