The Parthian (74 page)

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what?’ I asked.

‘You prefer the idea of fighting in daylight when everyone can see your great banner and your men on their horses, cloaks flying behind them as they charge to glory.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ I retorted.

‘It’s still all a game, isn’t it? One giant exercise in honour and glory. Until now you have been the shining star of the army. Pacorus the bringer of victory, the man known throughout the enemy’s lands as “the Parthian”, perhaps even more famous than Spartacus himself. Except that now your honour demands that you must carry out something that you have no interest in.’

‘Spartacus was a fool for getting himself trapped.’

She walked up to me until our faces were but inches apart. ‘
You
are a fool, Pacorus. He is a great man whose force of personality has united thousands behind him. He has given you all that you desire. He even said to me that you were a fine man, even though I thought otherwise. Do not make me change my mind about you.’

I was horrified at even the thought of losing her. I looked into her eyes. ‘My words were hasty. Forgive me. Of course I will not abandon Spartacus. The cold has obviously addled my brain.’

Her expression, formerly hard and unyielding, now softened somewhat. ‘I know that you will do the right thing. And do not be angry with Afranius. He does, after all, only want to be like you.’

I laughed. ‘I suspect he dislikes me.’

‘Perhaps, but so he wants to be a victorious general like you, to be known as a great warrior.’

I shrugged. ‘I’m not a great warrior.’

Her head tilted slightly as she regarded me. ‘Spartacus regards you so, and so does Castus and Akmon, and the last one is a particularly hard judge. So I hope you will not prove them wrong.’

I felt elated. ‘They really said that?’

‘Perhaps, for a great warrior, leading horses against wooden walls is not such a difficult task.’

I smiled, for she had out-foxed me. I conceded defeat. ‘Perhaps not.’

Like me she too was wrapped in a cloak, with a felt cap on her head, and her hair tied into a thick blonde plait. ‘It’s cool, isn’t it.’

‘The wind is blowing from the north and it will bring snow soon.’

‘More misery,’ I remarked.

It always amazed me that, however grave the situation, there could always be found someone to undertake the most hazardous of tasks, as long as the price was right. This proved to be the case now, as Godarz found me the means to get to Rhegium. In a dirt-poor fishing village on the Ionian coastline, where the hovels clung to the rocky outcrops that fronted the sea like limpets, he located a boat owner named Cunobarrus who, for a handful of gold pieces, would take me down the coast to Rhegium, as well as bring me back. Godarz had visited the village alone and got chatting to the inhabitants. His passed himself off as a distraught tradesman from Sicily whose terminally ill brother was trapped in Rhegium, his only wish being that his young nephew, myself, should see his father before died. The two score of people who listened to his story were mostly disinterested until he revealed the leather pouch he was carrying and its gold contents. Thus it came about that I sat in a stinking fishing boat as it bobbed among the white-flecked waves whipped up by the cool northerly wind, which filled the dirty grey single sail. Cunobarrus sat at the stern, holding the tiller, while a youth about eighteen years of age, his son I assumed, busied himself bailing seawater out of the boat’s bottom and casting glances at me. Cunobarrus was a filthy, lice-ridden individual who had obviously spent many years on the sea. His hands were calloused and his nails black, he spat frequently and his teeth were rotten. His boat was around fifteen feet in length, five foot at the beam and four feet in depth. It was held together by mortise and tenon joinery and was constructed mainly of cedar planks and oak frames, though by their varying colours I suspected that some of the wood had been used in other, older vessels before this one. 

We had set off just after dawn when the sea was calm, but an hour into our voyage the wind had picked up, increasing both our speed and my misery as the boat rose and pitched on the choppy sea. Cunobarrus was delighted.

‘Good wind, this. We’ll have you in Rhegium in no time.’ He brought up phlegm loudly and then spat it over the side. ‘Mind you, don’t know what you’re going to do when we get there. The place has been taken over by a load of slaves.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps they will let a son who only wants to see his ailing father alone.’

‘Maybe.’ He spat over the side again. ‘If he ain’t dead already. Hosidius, you worthless sewer rat, tighten that sail or it’ll rip. And get us something to eat.’

Hosidius, scampering around the boat like a tame monkey, whipped out a sack bag from under a bench, fished around inside it and brought out a loaf of bread and a jug, which turned out to contain vinegar. The bread was mouldy and the vinegar tasted disgusting, but Cunobarrus tucked into it with gusto. He grinned at me frequently, no doubt seeing me as his route to a better life. For security, Godarz had given him half the price before the journey, the rest to be collected upon my safe delivery back at his village. After two hours I began to feel decidedly nauseous, made worse by the increasing wind that tossed the boat around alarmingly, though Cunobarrus assured me that it was perfectly safe. As I watched Hosidius bale out the boat faster and faster, thoughts of drowning began to enter my mind. 

But we didn’t drown, and five hours after setting sail our miserable vessel edged its way into the harbour at Rhegium, the entrance to which was between two breakwaters made of rocks that extended into the sea like the claws of a giant crab. The harbour itself was fairly voluminous and could accommodate perhaps two-dozen large ships, though today only two wide-beamed cargo vessels were moored to the quay. Large warehouses fronted the harbour but their shutters were all closed, and the only activity was a score of soldiers who were patrolling the quay itself. As our boat neared the stone steps of the harbour wall, a burly centurion in the distinctive helmet of his rank appeared at the top of the steps. He was joined by half a dozen legionaries in full war gear. The centurion pointed at Cunobarrus.

‘You, up here quick!’

I recognised the voice. ‘Have you rejoined the Roman Army, Domitus?’

Domitus squinted at the boat and then smiled. ‘Prince Pacorus. Have you lost all your horsemen?’

I left Cunobarrus and Hosidius filling their bellies with warm porridge as I walked with Domitus into the town, which appeared to be deserted. He told me that Spartacus had made him governor of Rhegium, and his first order was to evacuate the inhabitants.

‘We threw them out some time ago, sent them packing towards the north. Then we put our soldiers into the houses. I have the governor’s house, which is quite agreeable.’

‘Is Spartacus in the town?’

He laughed. ‘No, he’s still living in his tent with Claudia. Said he would never sleep under a Roman roof again.’

‘How are things?’

He shrugged. ‘Spartacus is like a boar with a toothache since that pirate deceived him. Then the Romans built their fortifications and we are stuck here like pigs in a pen. I hope you fared better at Brundisium.’

‘We did. They weren’t expecting us, and when we attacked we killed many on the shore, but we have merely slowed them down, not stopped them.’

We walked through the town and then north into the army’s camp. The wind had if anything increased and it was becoming even colder as I drew my cloak around me. When we reached Spartacus’ tent my fingers were numb and I was glad to get inside and warm myself by a brazier. The tent was empty and so Domitus went off to search for Spartacus while feeling returned to my fingers. Moments later he was back with Spartacus at his side. He looked older and more haggard, with dark rings round his eyes. Physically he was still the impressive, muscled figure that I had seen all those months ago at Vesuvius, but he had a haunted look, as though he was weighed down by unbearable responsibilities. His eyes lit up when he saw me, though, and he locked me in an iron embrace.

‘Welcome, my friend. Domitus has told me how you savaged the army at Brundisium. A piece of good news at last, I shall have it spread throughout the army. It is good to see you.’

He released me from his bear-like hold. ‘You too, lord. How is Claudia?

‘Pregnant and tetchy,’ he replied, ‘but well. She is sleeping at the moment.’

As cooks brought us warm wine, hot porridge and freshly made bread, I relayed to Spartacus what had happened at Brundisium. As he listened to how we had slaughtered many enemy soldiers on that Ionian beach, his mood brightened. It increased still more when a bleary eyed Claudia appeared from an adjoining part of the tent. She looked as beautiful and sultry as ever, her belly now heavily swollen with her unborn child. We embraced and she kissed me on the cheek. She asked after Gallia and myself before reclining next to her husband on his couch.

‘You smell of fish,’ she remarked, screwing up her nose.

‘Alas, my mode of transport here left a lot to be desired.’

Half an hour later we were joined by Akmon and Castus, the latter his usual cheerful self and the Thracian as dour as ever.

‘At least we got the rest of your horses away,’ he said, ‘before the Romans penned us in. Where are they now?’

‘Not too far north, all safely away from Roman eyes.’

‘Three thousand cavalry won’t stay unnoticed for long,’ he sniffed.

‘True enough,’ added Spartacus. ‘That is why we must act fast.’

He motioned to Akmon, who walked over to table and spread a map similar to the one possessed by Godarz across its top. We gathered round it to look at southern Italy. I pointed to the map.

‘We are near Scolacium, camped in the hills.’

Akmon nodded approvingly. ‘Good, that means you can go through the valley of the Lametus River to reach the western coast.’

Spartacus traced his finger on the map from Rhegium northwards. ‘You need to get your horse down the Popilian Way to attack Crassus from the north. At the same time we will attack from the south and break through. Then your horse will screen the army as it moves north.’

‘To where?’ I asked.

I saw Castus glance at Akmon. ‘To Rome,’ replied Spartacus.

‘Rome?’ I was staggered.

‘We have no choice, Pacorus,’ said Spartacus. ‘When that pirate took off, our last chance of getting out of Italy went with him. I have a Roman army in front of me, one coming from Brundisium and probably another marching from Spain. But if we can break out of here and strike north, then we may be able to take the city.’

‘It’s a big city, Spartacus,’ I said.

‘I know, but Crassus must have denuded it of troops to raise his army, and that’s the last thing he will be expecting. If we take Rome then we free hundreds of thousands of slaves in the city. If we do that then our blow will reverberate throughout the Roman Empire, and may just deal it a mortal blow.’

I wondered if he was trying to convince himself or me. I said nothing. So that was it; we would smash through Crassus’ defences, march north and then capture Rome itself. My initial thought was that it was an insane plan, but then Spartacus had thus far never been defeated, and had beaten every army that had been sent against him. Why shouldn’t he be victorious again? With these thoughts swirling in my mind I walked with him, Akmon and Castus to see these Roman fortifications for myself. They were located ten miles north of Rhegium. They were just as Godarz had described, with an earth bank surmounted by a wooden palisade of sharpened logs, with sharpened stakes planted in the earth bank that faced us. And at intervals of a hundred feet were wooden watchtowers, each one about twenty feet higher than the palisade, and each one having three fighting platforms. Two sentries stood on the highest platform of every tower. In front of the ramparts were two parallel ditches and in front of the ditches were two rows of stakes driven the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a solitary cross in front of the Roman lines, on which was nailed the Roman centurion who had been captured. A single crow picked at the corpse. I shuddered and said a silent prayer to Shamash that I would be spared such a death. The wind was still blowing, its icy blast coming from the north and carrying flecks of snow that blew past us as we stood looking at the Roman lines.

‘It will be bloody getting through their defences,’ said Spartacus. ‘Before we get to the stakes their catapults mounted on top of the towers will open fire, and as we cut through the stakes they will be firing arrows at us from the towers and from firing steps on the other side of the palisade. Then we have to get across the ditches, which we will fill with bundles of brushwood. And all the time we will be under their fire. They will also put slingers on the watchtowers, who will exact a fearsome price. Then we will charge their ramparts and try to smash our way through the wooden wall, by which time a hail of javelins will be raining down on us.

‘But you, Pacorus, you hold the key to our success. The Romans will not be expecting an assault from behind, much less one conducted by cavalry. Their eyes will be looking south, and when your horsemen appear in their rear there will be panic, and when fear and uncertainty grips them, we will break through. If we don’t, we die, it’s as simple as that.’

I thought of those who would be in the front ranks of the attackers, who must approach the Roman defences and try to get through stakes and across ditches before they even reached the earth rampart with its palisade on top. They would suffer fearful losses.

‘Who will lead your attack, lord?’

‘I will, of course, and alongside me will be that young idiot Afranius and his Spaniards. After all, it is only right than the person responsible for these defences being built should be the first one to take them down.’

‘Where is our Spanish friend?’ I asked.

‘I sent him to the east coast to make a lot of noise in front of the Roman lines. Make them think that we will be attacking there rather than here, north of Rhegium.’

‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ said Akmon. ‘It will be suicide attacking that lot.’