The Parthian (54 page)

‘Perhaps what?’ I asked him.

‘The Princess Gallia is the daughter of King Ambiorix. She could speak to her father, perhaps.’

‘King Ambiorix?’

‘Yes, lord. He is the master of the lands we march through.’

They came that night. How many I do not know, but they killed two sentries and two others who had the misfortune to be in their path. They cut open the side of the tent and stole inside, and after what must have been a brief but violent struggle they left as silently as they had arrived. I stood in her tent and stared at the lifeless body of a young Gaul lying face down on the floor, a wound in his side. A red-eyed Diana sat on the bed, likewise staring at the dead man, as if he would suddenly spring to life and give us answers. A cowered Rubi sat huddled in the corner, a look of terror on her face. I could hardly believe it. I felt as though a blade had been stuck into my belly and was being slowly twisted. Diana buried her head in her hands and wept again. I could not bear it so I waved a hand at a pale-faced Praxima to take her away. As she was gently lifted from the bed and shuffled past me, I laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘We will get her back, I promise.’ Was I assuring her or me? I did not know. All I knew that I would not rest until she was safely back by my side. 

‘I have sent our patrols in all directions, highness,’ said Nergal. 

‘There were no horse tracks outside the camp,’ added Rhesus.

‘They would have left the horses in the trees,’ I said, dejectedly, ‘They will be miles away by now.’

Gallia slept among the women of her company. They had been in the main camp before we had defeated the Romans in Umbria, but after our triumphs I had grown too confident and had allowed them to stay with the cavalry. She would not countenance being away from them and said she would only share my bed as my wife. I respected her for that but did not like the idea of her being removed from me. So I had her company positioned in the centre of the camp every time we erected our tents. In this way, or so I thought, she would be safe. I was wrong. And now the woman that I loved had been snatched away and I was left helpless. I prayed to Shamash that she still lived, for life without her would have no meaning and death on the end of a Roman spear would be a blessing. They had taken her in the early hours, just before the dawn broke when men’s senses are at their most confused. She must have fought them, though, because they left one of their number dead. I just hoped that her show of defiance would not go against her. But did she still live?

Spartacus and Claudia arrived at midday, both of them trying to offer solace. They failed. Nergal and Burebista returned shortly after to report they had found nothing. After a brief rest to drink and eat, they set out again on fresh horses. Gallia, and in truth all her women, had become very popular among my horsemen, many of whom regarded them as lucky mascots. Those who rode with me came to love her, with her blond locks, her riding skills and her prowess with a bow. And of course it is easy to become besotted with a beautiful woman. There was thus no shortage of volunteers to go looking for her, though none met with success.

‘She is still alive,’ said Spartacus, after inspecting the dead Gaul. ‘If they had wanted her dead she would be lying there instead of him.’

‘But why did they take her?’ I was going frantic with worry.

He shrugged. ‘They want something from us.’ 

‘But what?’

‘We will soon find out, I think,’ added Rhesus.

An answer of sorts came at noon when a lone rider entered the camp, a young man stripped to the waist, his body covered in blue tattoos. He surrendered himself to the guards immediately and asked to be taken to see me. He was brought before Spartacus and myself in my tent at spear point, though he seemed unconcerned at the malice that was being directed at him. One of the guards pushed him down on his knees. He was broad chested, with muscular arms and thick wrists. He had pale blue eyes and his hair had been drawn back and tied behind his neck, around which he wore a gold torque.

‘What do you want?’ He was smiling at me.

‘You are the one they call Pacorus?’ He spoke Latin with a guttural accent.

‘You are to come with me.’ Nergal and Burebista hissed in rage behind me, but I stilled them with a raised had.

‘Why?’

‘If you wish to see your woman again you will follow me, alone and unarmed.’

‘And if I don’t?’ I knew the answer already.

‘She will be killed.’

‘Why shouldn’t we kill you, also?’ asked Spartacus.

The Gaul looked at Spartacus and then me. I guessed that he did not know the identity of the large warrior who stood next to me, though he must have detected the authority in his voice. The Gaul smiled.

‘My father does not wish to kill anyone. He wants only to discuss — certain matters.’

‘Your father?’ I asked.

‘King Ambiorix.’

I was surprised. ‘Then you must be…’

‘The brother of Gallia, yes.’

‘What are these matters?’ said Spartacus.

‘Only my father knows. But if I do not return within four hours then he will assume I am dead. And…’

He did not have to finish his sentence. He was bundled outside as I gave orders for Remus to be saddled.

‘Do not go, highness,’ said Nergal. ‘Give this man to me and I will make him reveal the location of his camp. Then we can rescue the Lady Gallia.’

‘Thank you, Nergal, but no. This is their country and they are probably watching the camp now. If we harm this Gaul I might as well kill Gallia myself. I have no choice.’

‘The fact that he sent his son means he attaches some importance to obtaining something from us,’ mused Spartacus.

A few minutes later I was riding Remus out of the camp with my guide beside me. We rode through pastures, across shallow streams and followed dirt tracks though trees. He said nothing until we came to a great camp at the foot of the mountains, which stood in a vast clearing hewn from the forest we had been riding through. The camp was surrounded by a ditch and earth mound, on the top of which had been built a tall wooden fence. The track led across a wooden bridge over the ditch and through two large spiked gates. The gates were flanked by guard towers occupied by warriors armed with spears and shields. Before I rode through the gates my nostrils recoiled from the stench of animal dung and human sweat, and as I rode through the camp I saw pigs and goats in cramped pens living beside untidy huts. Naked children caked in filth ran between the huts, while everywhere stank of animal and human filth. Is this how the Gauls lived?

In the centre of the camp stood a large, squat building made from logs with a thatched roof. We tied the horses to a rail outside the main entrance, which was guarded by two long-haired warriors armed with spears, and went inside. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, for the only light that entered was via small windows positioned high on each wall of what was a large hall. The roof was supported by thick pillars made from tree trunks, from which hung oil lamps. My guide strode confidently down the hall towards a dais that stood at the far end, upon which was seated a man in an oversized chair and next to him a thankfully unharmed Gallia. More warriors stood behind and on each side of the man seated in the chair, who I assumed was King Ambiorix. I stood a few paces from him and bowed my head, as is the custom when a prince meets a king. I also glanced at Gallia and smiled. She looked pale and tired but was not bound in any way. The man who had been my guide stepped onto the dais and took his place beside his father. The king was not like a typical Gaul. He had no facial hair and his face was lean, almost gaunt. He wore a gold torque around his neck and gold rings on his fingers, but his tunic and trousers were plain and his boots were also ordinary. His arms were not tattooed and, unlike those of his warriors, were not thick and hairy; rather, they were lithe and thin. His hair was fair and his eyes were blue, but unlike Gallia’s they were full of cunning and malice. A young girl walked from the shadows holding a tray of silver goblets. She stopped before the king who took one, then offered me one. I took it and raised it to Gallia’s father, who likewise raised his goblet and then drank. The atmosphere was unbearably tense. I sipped at the drink, which was crude mead that tasted of juniper berries and a hint of oak.

The king gestured to a warrior standing against one of the giant oak pillars, who brought me a chair to sit it.

‘Sit.’ King Ambiorix’s voice was deep and severe.

‘Thank you.’ As I sat I noticed that the warrior who stood behind Gallia, thick set with a high cheek bones, must be another of her brothers, as he had the same demeanor. He was slightly taller than she and he too was covered in tattoos. ‘You have something that belongs to me, sire.’

He looked surprised. ‘Do I? Please enlighten me.’

I looked at Gallia. ‘My future wife sits in your throne room as a prisoner. I would ask why she was taken by your men against her will.’

He placed his goblet on the tray and I did likewise, and waved the girl away, then leaned forward.

‘You speak of my daughter and yet I do not recall agreeing to her marrying you. In fact, your decision to marry her without my consent may be construed as gross insolence.’

‘I do not mean to give offence, sire.’ I think he liked me addressing me thus, but I had the feeling that we were only dancing around the real reason for this meeting.

‘Prince Pacorus, I am sure that you do not mean to offend me. But you come into my land at the head of an army without my permission, you camp on my land, you take what livestock you want for food and lay waste great tracts of my territory. And not one emissary have I received from you.’

‘Sire, I do not command the army.’

‘Indeed you do not, for I know that the slave called Spartacus leads your band of ragtag murderers and thieves. You think that your activities have gone unnoticed in these parts? You loot all of southern Italy and then come north like a plague of rats, no doubt to carry out the same activities that you have perfected this past year.’

‘We are merely attempting to leave Italy and reach our homes.’

He swiped the air with his right arm. ‘What home does a slave have who was born to slaves in Italy? None. What homes did Crixus and his band of cutthroats have when they were camped on Mount Garganus and raided the surrounding area? None. Have you any idea of the trouble that I have had because fellow Gauls are running amok in Italy? Of course not, you are only concerned with your own desires and have no consideration for others.’

This was ridiculous, and I was rapidly losing patience. ‘What do you want of me?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You do not ask the questions, prince of Parthia. This is my land, not yours. Imagine my surprise when I learned that a foreigner, a Parthian no less, on a white horse was leading a group of horsemen who were spreading fire and rapine throughout southern Italy. And imagine my horror when I further heard that his woman was a blonde-haired Gaul who rides and fights like a man.’ He looked disapprovingly at Gallia. ‘My daughter, who had escaped from her master, her
murdered
master, and was now shaming my good name.’

Gallia laughed at that.

‘Silence!’ Ambiorix rose from his chair and began pacing up and down on the dais and then pointed at me with a bony finger. ‘You and your slave general have put me in a very delicate situation. She,’ he jabbed a finger at Gallia, ‘I once sold to a Roman for her refusal to marry the chief of another tribe. I will not tolerate insolence, you see.’

‘He was old and fat, and it was more pleasurable being a slave.’ Gallia’s words were like javelins hurled at him.

Ambiorix was now seething with rage but kept it under control. He regained his seat and smiled at me. ‘If you want your woman back you will have to buy her back.’

Now we were getting to the crux of the matter. ‘Buy her back?’

He sat back in his chair. ‘A somewhat delicious irony, is it not? I sold her once and now I will sell her once more.’

‘I have no money, sire.’

His eyes flashed with rage. ‘Do not take me for a fool, boy. I know that you paid the city of Thurri handsomely in silver and gold. I also know that every Roman legion has its own gold when it marches, gold that your slave general now possesses after destroying the Roman armies in Umbria.’

I looked at him contemptuously. ‘How much gold will buy your daughter back?’

He smiled. ‘Do not be so quick to judge me, young prince, for I have a kingdom to rule whereas you have no responsibilities save charging around like some tragic hero in a Greek play. You despise me? Why not, you have blazed a trail of infamy through this land and take what you want. But I have to live in the real world. This was our land once, a long time ago when we came over the Alps south and made northern Italy our home. Rome was just a collection of villages then. Three hundred years ago a mighty army of Gauls sacked Rome and its citizens paid homage to us. But now Rome is like a hungry wolf and seeks to swallow us whole.’

‘Then why don’t you fight?’ I asked, a question that drew murmurs of anger from those around him. Ambiorix silenced them with a raised hand.

‘Fight? We are just one tribe. I am not so stupid to provoke a war that I cannot win. That road that your army has just marched up is like a spear though our hearts. Every year we are forced to pay tribute to the Romans, and every year they send more and more of their citizens to live on the land that they have cleared. Farms spring up where once there was forest, canals are dug to drain marshland and more roads are built across our land.

‘The city of Mutina sits in our land like a nest of vipers, ready to strike at us at the slightest provocation. The governor is an individual named called Gaius Cassius Longinus. He has two legions under his command, but the mere whiff of trouble and he will squeal like a stuck boar and there’ll be more legions flooding in to support him.’

‘What of the other tribes?’ I enquired.

‘They are cowered by the Romans, but there are some among them who still dream of a Roman-free world. It was one such man, the chief of the Lingones, whom my errant daughter was going to marry. And if they join me then the other tribes, the Insubres, Cenomani, Boii and Salassi, will follow.’