The Parthian (68 page)

He was hurt by my suggestion. ‘Roman senators are not assassins. If I had wanted you dead I would not have invited you to my house.’

‘My apologies. But why did you ask me here?’

He clicked his fingers and held out his silver goblet, which was filled by a slave holding a jug of wine. ‘To make you an offer, Prince Pacorus. I am willing to pass over your campaign of rapine in Italy, on condition that you leave this land. Should you agree, I will arrange for your passage and safe conduct back to Hatra. I will even organise a safe passage for your woman.’

‘My woman?’ He seemed to be well informed.

He sighed, as though disappointed by my underestimation of him. ‘I have in my study reports from the provinces of Bruttium, Lucania, Campania, Apulia, Samnium, Picenum and Umbria of a long-haired warrior riding a white horse with a blonde-haired woman riding with him, who with their band of mounted archers have cut a trail of destruction throughout Italy. They call him, that is to say you, “the Parthian”, and your woman “
blonde everto
”, the blonde demon. Were you a mere brigand leading a band of raiders you could be easily dealt with, but this Spartacus has trained his slaves well, and you are the instrument that gives him victory.’

‘I think you overestimate me…’

He rose from his couch and waved his right hand at me. ‘Do not insult me, young prince. I have studied the battles that you have won and the methods you use. Your cavalry is his eyes and ears and the thing that makes this villain victorious.’

I was immensely proud. He noticed my pleasure. ‘That this is a source of pride to you is understandable, though I wonder what your father would say if he knew that his son was in an army of cutthroats and criminals, a highborn prince cavorting with lowly slaves.’

‘My father? What do you know of my father.’

He regained his seat and his composure. ‘I know that King Varaz is a mighty warrior who over two years ago led a great raid into Syria, attacking the towns of Hierapolis, Boroea and Chalcis. He reached the sea at Antioch before returning to Hatra. He too left a trail of destruction; unlike you he did not get captured. It seems that laying waste a country runs in your family.’

‘That expedition was in retaliation for a Roman invasion of my father’s kingdom.’

A wry smile crossed his face. ‘That is a moot point, but let us put it aside for the moment. Surely you wish to see your father and homeland again?’

More than he could ever imagine. ‘I do, but to abandon my men would be dishonourable.’

He laughed. ‘Honour, you speak of honour? Was there honour when Spartacus burned and looted Forum Anii or Metapontum? Would you speak of honour to the relatives of those who were butchered in those and other places by his soldiers and your horsemen? This man you follow, this Spartacus, is nothing more than a deserter from the Roman Army, a man who took to banditry who, after he was captured, was given a second chance. Instead of being condemned to be a galley slave or to work in the mines, he was given the chance to atone for his misdeeds by becoming a gladiator. But what does he do? Spits in the face of Rome a second time and instigates a rebellion.’

‘Spartacus saved my life,’ I said coolly. ‘And I count him as a friend.’

‘Then you should be more careful in the choice of your friends. Be that as it may. As I said earlier, I have been tasked with suppressing this slave revolt, and I intend to do so. I am first and foremost a businessman. I own silver mines in Spain, landed estates in Italy and Greece, some of which you and your compatriots have burned and liberated, so-called, the slaves who worked on them, as well as a number of properties in Rome itself. Spartacus and his slaves have thus directly harmed my interests, therefore the coming campaign is both personal as well as being in the service of the state.’

‘How do you know that you will not suffer the same fate as the previous Roman commanders who were sent against us?’ I asked.

‘A fair question. I will tell you why. Firstly, the legions I will lead will be financed from my own pocket, and I am not the sort of man to waste money on ill-advised ventures. You will find them of sterner stuff than those you have previously encountered. Secondly, another army is on the way and will presently land at the port of Brundisium. You will, in fact, be trapped between two armies and vastly outnumbered. Finally, as we speak a third army is marching from Spain and will be in Italy in the new year. So you see, Prince Pacorus, whatever you do the end result will be the same. I merely wish to expedite the sequence of events.’

He was probably bluffing, and yet there was no hint of gloating in his voice or exaggeration, just a calm recounting of facts.

He clicked his fingers and a slave appeared with a bowl of water, in which Crassus washed his hands. Another slave offered him a towel to dry them. Two slaves performed the same duty for me.

‘An excellent meal.’ I said. ‘Your hospitality is most generous.’

‘Then take advantage of it some more. Accept my offer and go home, because I can assure you that once I take the field I will not rest until this slave uprising has been crushed and all those who have taken part in it have been destroyed. That is the promise that I have made in the temple of my ancestors, and that is the promise I give to you.’

‘It is a fair offer, sir, and one that only a fool would refuse.’

He smiled at me, the first time he had done so. ‘And you are going to be a fool.’ He raised his hands and let them fall by his side. ‘I understand. Honour, that invisible thing that holds so many individuals and families in its grip. But in this instance, I fear that your honour will also be your executioner.’

I laughed out loud and he looked at me quizzically. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s just that someone else told me that not so long ago.’

‘He is obviously a man of some sense, you should listen to him. But it is late. Please sleep on the matter and give me your answer in the morning.’

Despite being in the house of my enemy I slept well that night, the gentle sound of fountains underneath my balcony soothing my senses. One thing was certain, this Crassus was a very wealthy individual and obviously a man of some power. I had no way of knowing if what he had told me about the army landing at Brundisium and the other marching from Spain was true, but why would he lie? If it were true, then Spartacus would indeed be in a perilous position. And yet we had beaten Roman armies before, and I comforted myself with that fact before I slipped into a deep sleep.

The next morning I rose early, just after dawn, and took breakfast in my room. I asked to be taken to the stables where I found Remus being groomed by two young stable hands. I then went to pay my respects to my host, and was escorted to his study, a well-appointed office with a large desk in the centre flanked by two marble busts on chest-high stone columns. One of the busts resembled Crassus, who was seated at his desk pouring over a number of scrolls.

‘Good morning. Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, sir, thank you.’

He caught me looking at his marble likeness. ‘My father, Publius Licinius Crassus, and the other one is my brother, Publius.’

‘Do they also live in Rome?’

‘Both dead, killed during one of our civil wars that happen from time to time.’

‘Killed in battle?’

He rolled up the scroll he had been reading and looked at me. ‘Alas, no. They were killed when the side that they were fighting against captured Rome and executed all those of the opposing faction. I escaped the slaughter because I happened to be outside the city inspecting a family estate at the time. I managed to flee to Spain before the enemy’s troops could get hold of me.’

‘The gods must have protected you that day, much like Shamash has looked over me thus far.’

‘Shamash?’

‘A Parthian god, and a powerful one.’

He looked at me with a bemused expression.

‘The gods, young prince, are invented so that the masses, miserable as their existences invariably are, believe that there is a better life waiting for them after they have toiled through this one. But they endure this misery in the belief that the gods will reserve for them a place in heaven, where they will reside for all eternity in eternal bliss and free from pain, disease and the other afflictions that made their lives miserable in this life.’

I was shocked. ‘You do not believe in the gods?’

‘Of course not. Important men have better things to do with their time than prostrate themselves before stone idols.’

‘I believe that Shamash protects me when I ride into battle.’

‘Of course, you have the youthful belief in invulnerability and immortality. And it suits your purpose to believe that you have a mighty warrior god fighting beside you. I imagine that you believe him to look like you as well. This woman of yours, for example, is she beautiful? Does she eclipse the sun with her perfection and dazzle you when she smiles?’

‘Yes, she is like a goddess, sir.’

He clapped his hands. ‘Of course. Have you noticed that all the statues and paintings of gods and goddesses depict them as being all young and beautiful. No deformed bodies, twisted limbs or ugly faces among the immortals. The poor believe in the gods, while princes and kings seek to become them.’

‘I try to live my life so that Shamash will be pleased with me, so that He will smile on Hatra and the Parthian Empire.’

‘Alas, much as I would like to argue religion with you, I have much to do today and regret that I cannot spend any more time talking with you.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘No, sir.’

‘That is unfortunate. You will go back to the slave army?’

‘Yes, sir, for to do otherwise would bring shame and dishonour upon myself and my father.’

‘Very well. I can see that more words would be wasted. But remember my promise, Prince Pacorus. When you leave my house you will be my enemy once again, and one that I intend to hunt down and destroy. If we should meet again, you will find that I will be acting on the orders of the Senate and people of Rome, and they will expect retribution for what you have done.’

‘I understand, sir.’

He rose from his chair and walked round his desk to face me. He nodded in approval, I like to think, and then offered me his hand. I took it.

‘Farewell, Prince Pacorus. It was a pleasure meeting with you.’

‘You too, sir.’

After I had left his study, Remus was brought to me and I rode from the villa accompanied once again by Ajax. This time we did not have an escort and it took us some time to descend the Palatine. Once again the streets heaved with a mass of humanity speaking many tongues aside from Latin. Today was if anything even busier than yesterday, as attested to by Ajax, who informed me that it was a market day when all the farmers who lived outside Rome brought their produce into the city to sell. Indeed, we had to take a detour as several streets had been closed to traffic to allow the farmers to set up their stalls along designated ‘market streets’. The smells that came from these streets confirmed that goods on sale included goats, sheep, fish, cured meats, spices and cheese. I asked Ajax if it would be possible to visit the Forum, the site that was the very centre of the Roman Empire itself.

‘Of course, sir. My master instructed that you were to be shown whatever sites you wished to visit before you left. He asks only that you do not proclaim your identity to all and sundry.’

I smiled. ‘That would be most sensible, I think.’

We left our horses at one of the properties owned by Crassus, an apartment block that had a shop selling leather goods on the ground floor and stables around a courtyard immediately behind it. Ajax gave orders that the horses were to be groomed and fed (Remus had never been groomed so many times in so short a space of time), and that we would return for them later. It was mid-morning when we walked to the valley between the Palatine, Quirinal and Viminal hills, the location of the Forum. Unfortunately, the entire Roman Empire seemed to have had the same idea, for the paved open space was a seething press of people. But they were dwarfed by the magnificent buildings that enclosed the area, white colonnaded structures with red-tiled roofs. The senate house itself, though having impressive bronze doors, was actually the least impressive building in the Forum. The grandest were the temples: tall, imposing structures built to pay homage to deities called Saturn, Vulcan, Concordia, Vesta and Castor. I noticed a large group of young men gathered at the doors of the senate house and asked Ajax who they were.

‘The sons of senators who are currently sitting inside, sir. They listen to the debates so that one day they will be familiar with its procedures, and will thus be able to take their place as senators when their time comes.’

‘Is your master debating today.’

‘No, sir, he has more pressing matters to attend to.’

‘Such as planning to crush the slave rebellion.’

He looked sheepish and uncomfortable. ‘Yes, sir.’

I also noticed a large wooden platform in front of the senate house, on which a speaker was addressing a crowd. I also noticed that there were spikes mounted on either side of it. Ajax told me that the platform was called a
rostra
and was used by speakers to harangue the crowds. The heads of notable Romans who were on the losing side in Rome’s seemingly frequent civil wars were mounted on the spikes. I wondered if the heads of the father and brother of General Crassus had ended up here. After an hour we left the Forum and retraced our steps back to where our horses were stabled. After a meal of bread and cheese we began our journey out of the city. We left via the Porta Collina and rode east. After ten miles I halted and bade Ajax farewell. He told me that the latest news he had heard was that the slave army had moved further south, towards Campania. I shook his hand and asked whether he would reconsider his decision about joining us. He said no, and who could blame him? He may have been a slave, but he enjoyed a position of power serving a powerful Roman senator.

I rode hard and camped for the night at a miserable place called a
hospitium
, a wretched hovel where I had to share a large, draughty room with around a dozen stinking fellow travellers. In the morning I had to hunt down and kill the lice that had migrated from them to me, but from talking with them I did learn that Spartacus had camped fifty miles southeast of Rome. It took another day to reach the army, the diminishing number of travellers on the road a sure sign that I was getting close to its camp. On a drizzly autumn morning, with my cloak wrapped around me in a futile attempt to keep dry, I ran into a patrol of cavalry armed with spears and shields. I recognised them at once as being part of Burebista’s dragon. Fortunately, they also recognised me and told me that army was five miles away.