The Parthian (43 page)

Once each blade was finished being forged, it was taken to the finishing sheds where it was sharpened with files, hand scrapers and natural stone. Each sword blade was double-edged with a flat diamond cross-section, without grooves or fullers. Then it was sent to another shed where the handle was attached. These were intricate affairs. The hilt itself was made of wood with a thin brass plate set into the bottom of the guard, with a round pommel. While this process was going on other workers made the scabbards, which were two pieces of wood covered with thin leather. I marvelled at the level of activity, which went on day and night as the efforts to arm all our troops intensified. I got talking to one old smith, whose arms were covered with burn scars, who told me that it took about a week to produce a finished sword.

Spartacus made Godarz quartermaster general of the whole army, responsible for distributing weapons and also collecting any surplus gold and silver that we might have. There was a large quantity of the latter, as the spoils of Forum Annii and Metapontum included expensive drinking vessels, jewelry and religious items looted from temples. The Gauls in particular had a vast horde, which Godarz demanded and Crixus refused. It took the personal intervention of Spartacus himself before he relented, but relent he did. The precious metal was melted down and cast into gold and silver ingots, which were placed under heavy guard in Akmon’s treasury camp. Crixus had his sense of grievance soothed somewhat when Godarz sent him a thousand new swords for his warriors. There was neither the time nor the resources to produce mail armour, Spartacus remarking that new shirts would have to be taken off dead Romans. The same went for helmets, though wicker shields covered with leather sufficed for those who would not be fighting in the front ranks. We certainly had no shortage of leather, having amassed thousands of cattle during our journey from Mount Vesuvius, plus tens of thousands of sheep and goats. And we certainly had no shortage of milk, meat or honey, for Bruttium was famous for the quality of its honey and multitude of beehives. 

During the weeks that followed, each day had the same routine as I moulded the cavalry into a force that could beat the Romans on the battlefield. All my Parthians were assigned to lead and train one-hundred man companies. Nergal and Burebista each had their own dragons now, a thousand men divided into ten companies. I commanded the third dragon, with Rhesus as my second-in-command. Nergal and myself commanded horse archers but Burebista led horsemen equipped with spears and shields. Not all those who could ride were able to master the bow, even less when on horseback, so they were trained to fight as Roman cavalry. I ordered the shields, oval shaped and covered in leather, to have a white horse’s head painted on them to display Hatra’s emblem in the heart of my enemy’s kingdom.

Thus did the army’s mounted arm number two thousand horse archers and a thousand mounted spearmen. No matter what dragon they were allocated to, each day was the same for all those who rode. Up at dawn for an hour of marching fully equipped on foot, followed by breakfast, three hours of riding drills, an hour grooming and checking our mounts, a light midday meal, and then the afternoon spent practising archery and close-quarter combat with spears, swords and shields. Burebista and his Dacians made a point of keeping their bows, even though the other men of his dragon were not horse archers. Byrd and his men took no part in our daily routine, they were a law unto themselves, being mostly a collection of loners, oddballs and undesirables, but they were excellent scouts who rode far and wide and made sure no Roman army would surprise us in our winter quarters. Nergal grumbled that they set a bad example, but they lived apart from us in a separate camp in the foothills of the mountains and we rarely saw them. Byrd reported to me once a week in his usual curt manner, but I was reassured that he and his men were watching over us, and as long as they did their task properly they were worth their weight in gold. Bozan had told me that the key to success on the battlefield was hard and relentless training, ‘train hard, fight easy, that’s the secret, boy,’ he used to tell me. And so it was. I had to admit that former slaves made excellent recruits. They had known nothing but cruelty and harsh discipline, so it was no great transition at all for them to live each day with hard physical toil. The difference being that with us they were fighting to maintain their newly won freedom, and they took to the task with gusto. There was no grumbling or sedition, just a desire to learn the skills that would enable them to kill Romans and stay free.

It was nearly a month after we had taken delivery of the first shipmen of iron from the city of Thurri when Nergal burst into my tent in an agitated state.

‘We’ve got trouble, highness.’

I strapped on my sword and followed him outside into the morning light, expecting to see Crixus and a horde of his Gauls drawn up in battle array over some imagined slight. Instead I was greeted by a frowning Godarz, a smiling Gafarn and a column of horsemen a couple of hundred feet away, all in full war gear. About company strength, they looked smart and were armed with bows and swords. All wore mail shirts and helmets whose cheek guards enclosed their faces.

‘Shouldn’t they be on the training field?’ I said to Nergal.

‘Take a closer look, highness,’

I really didn’t have time for this but I walked towards the horsemen, Nergal, Gafarn and Godarz falling in behind me.

‘Who is your commander,’ I shouted at the two men who led the column.

He took off his helmet and a great cascade of blonde hair fell about ‘his’ shoulders.

‘No man commands us,’ said Gallia, ‘but we are willing to fight alongside you for freedom.’

I was momentarily speechless, but then turned on Nergal.

‘Is this sort of joke?’

‘No, highness.’

The individual next to Gallia also took off her helmet; it was Praxima and behind her sat Diana.

‘We can all ride and fight,’ said Gallia, proudly, ‘and demand the right to do so.’

‘Demand!’ I said.

‘Feisty lot, aren’t they,’ mused Gafarn, mischievously.

‘Be quiet, Gafarn. Godarz, where did they get their weapons?’

Before he could answer Gallia spoke. ‘We took them from the armoury. I told the guards that you had given me permission.’

I looked at Godarz, who shrugged then looked down at the ground. I walked over to Gallia, who had acquired a fine mail shirt, as did Praxima. I stood next to her horse, which I had to admit looked magnificent, its mane and coat shining in the sun. All the woman’s horses had red saddlecloths edged with yellow, loot taken from Roman mounts.

‘Are you going to get down so we can talk about this?’ I asked her, quietly.

‘Are you going to let us fight in your cavalry?’ she said, defiantly.

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Yes it is,’ she replied, ‘we can fight as well as any man.’ There was now a crowd of sightseers gathering round us, which annoyed me intensely.

‘Get these men back to their duties,’ I snapped at Nergal, who ordered them away.

‘If I can prove that we are as good as any man, will you let us fight?’ said Gallia, loudly enough for all those around to hear. She had given me a way out of this predicament.

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘But how can you prove such a thing?’

I looked at Nergal, who nodded in acknowledgement, though Godarz was frowning and Gafarn was shaking his head.

‘An archery contest, to decide the matter, such as you have in Parthia,’ said Gallia. ‘I will pit my bow against yours.’

I burst into laughter and moved closer to her. ‘My love, you know you cannot win such a contest.’ She was not amused.

‘Well, if I cannot win then you can have no objection to competing against me.’

I accepted her challenge. This was the woman I loved, but I was a Parthian prince, whose blood had inherited the skills of the fable horse archers of the great Asiatic steppes of legend. I had held a bow since leaving the cradle, but I promised myself that I would not humiliate the woman who I was going to one day marry.

Our training area was a wide expanse of open land near the foothills of the mountains. It was divided into several archery practice courses, each one the same in length and purpose, and were identical to the ones we used in Parthia. Each course was five hundred feet long, with targets on the left-hand side placed at intervals along its length. The targets were square shaped, just over three feet in diameter and each one was divided into five scoring areas, with the inner bulls-eye being eight inches in diameter. All the targets were placed sixteen feet from the inside of the course rope. At its most basic, a horsemen rode up the course and fired at each target as he passed, though only skilled archers were able to hit the bulls-eye of all five targets. Standing opposite each marker, about thirty feet away, was a scorer, who held a coloured flag aloof after his target had been hit, or not as the case may be. A red flag indicated a strike on the bulls-eye, a green the next three scoring areas out from the bulls-eye, and a yellow flag to mark a hit on the outer scoring area. A white flag indicated a miss. To simulate battle conditions, each attempt at the course had to be performed at the gallop with the archer drawing arrows from his quiver. Easy enough for a Parthian, but I doubted that those unused to shooting from horseback would be able to achieve this, much less a woman.

The competition had been arranged to take place in mid-afternoon and I expected that only myself, Gallia and a few others would attend. How wrong I was. Word of the competition between ‘the Parthian’ and ‘his woman’ had spread like wildfire through not only the cavalry camp but throughout the army. When I rode Remus over to the training area, a multitude had gathered to watch what was going to take place. All Gallia’s women were there, plus Nergal, Godarz, Rhesus, Gafarn and several dozen Parthians who should have been with instructing their men, but had decided to bring their charges along to watch an archery competition. Then Spartacus and Claudia arrived, together with a horde of Thracians, and Castus with even more Germans. I rode over to where Spartacus was talking with Nergal and Godarz. I dismounted and embraced Claudia.

‘A pleasure to see you, lady,’ I said.

‘How do you think my Gallic girl will do?’ she asked.

‘She rides well enough,’ I replied, ‘but archery is in every Parthian’s blood. She will not win, I fear.’

‘Would you like a wager on that, Pacorus?’ said Spartacus, winking at Claudia.

‘I would not want to take your money, lord,’ I replied.

At that moment Gafarn walked over from where he had been talking to Gallia. He bowed his head to Spartacus and Claudia, and then looked at me, a stupid grin on his face.

‘The Lady Gallia asks if you are ready to start, or whether you would like to concede defeat now.’

Spartacus burst into laughter, as did Castus and others behind them and several of his Germans cheered. I was not amused and felt my face blush. I mounted Remus and took out my bow from its case. I pointed at Gafarn.

‘I blame you for this.’

‘Of course,’ he said, unconcerned. ‘The sequence is single shot, fast shoot and serial shoot.’

‘I’m well aware of the rules, Gafarn,’ I snapped.

‘Good. You will shoot first, please begin when you are ready. And good luck.’

‘I do not need luck,’ I said, irritably.

‘Oh, I think you do.’

I rode Remus over to the start line, the course stretching out in front of me straight as an arrow. Behind the markers, all along the course, stood the spectators, hundreds of them. It was traditional for a judge to lower a spear to indicate the start of a charge, and sure enough Gafarn had furnished Claudia with a shaft, and she now walked purposely to where Gallia and I sat on our horses. Her black hair shone like a horse’s mane in the sun as she stood and lowered the spear, signaling me to begin. I jammed my knees into Remus’ sides, causing him to rear up on his hind legs and then to thunder down the course. Single shot entailed striking a target three hundred feet from the start line. Remus ran like the wind as I pulled an arrow from my quiver, strung it and let it loose as the target flashed by me on my left. The moment it left my bow I glanced behind to my right to watch the scorer. Red flag! I patted Remus’ neck as I slowed him to a canter as we neared the end of the course. Polite applause greeted my shot as Gallia began her run.

Her horse ran arrow-straight as she galloped towards me, the reins around her right arm as she drew an arrow, strung it and pulled back the bowstring. Her posture in the saddle was perfect, her upper body upright, eyes looking along the arrow and her legs tucked in tight. She let her arrow fly and raced down the course. Wild cheers greeted the scorer as he hoisted his red flag. Gallia halted her mount, turned him around and cantered back to the start line. All her concentration was on the competition; nothing else mattered to her at that moment.

We were back at the start line for the fast shoot. This is where the horsemen has to hit two targets, the first one being placed two hundred feet from the start line and angled towards the start, not to the side, making it a forward shot. But the second target, about eighty feet forward from the first target, is angled towards the finish line and thus requires the archer to make a back shot over the rear quarters of his mount. This was a Parthian specialty and I doubted that Gallia would even attempt it. Claudia gave the signal and once more Remus thundered down the course. I loosed the first arrow, pulled another from my quiver quickly, strung it, swung in the saddle to my left and fired it over Remus’ rump. I halted him at the finish line and saw two red flags being held aloof. Again, polite applause. Then came Gallia, riding hard and fast, leaning forward in the saddle to take the shot at the forward-facing target. The arrow left her bow and she strung another as her horse galloped up to and then past the second target. She effortlessly twisted her torso to the left and took the shot, the arrow hitting the target. But which part? The crowd erupted into cheering again as two red flags were hoisted aloof. So we were dead level. This girl had been taught well, that much was true, but she also must have spent hours and hours on the training field to reach such proficiency.