The Parthian (78 page)

‘I have news, lord. Many Romani cavalry riding south down Popilian Way.’

‘When?’

‘Two days ago.’

‘How many, Byrd.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe fifteen hundred, riding hard. Led by a man with angry face and red hair.’

‘Thank you, Byrd. Go and get some food and take your horse to the veterinaries. Get him groomed and seen to.’

As Byrd rode towards the makeshift stables we had constructed from felled trees, I unstrung my bow. Gafarn noticed my concern.

‘His news troubles you?’

‘Roman cavalry riding south means that they are going to link up with Crassus, which means that once that happens he will be at our throats like a wolf with a newborn lamb. And to rub salt into the wound, I can guess the commander of those horsemen.’

‘Who?’

‘My old adversary, Lucius Furious.’

Gafarn put another arrow into the centre of the target.

‘You should have killed him when you had the chance.’

‘You know, Gafarn, for once you are absolutely right.’

Worse news came three days later. Two of Byrd’s scouts who had been sent into the west to keep watch on the Roman forces at Brundisium had ridden through the mountains, pulling their horses through snow-blocked paths to reach us. They sat in my tent, looking wet, bedraggled and filthy, as they recounted what they had seen on the Appian Way just west of Tarentum.

‘The Romans are on the march, lord.’

‘How many?’ I asked, my heart sinking.

‘We counted five eagles, lord, plus auxiliaries,’ said the other man, who had told me that he had been a shepherd in the hills of Lucania for ten years, and who knew all the high passes in the area.

I relayed this information immediately to Spartacus, who convened a council of war. As yet there was no news of the army of Crassus.

‘But that force poses the greatest threat,’ said Spartacus, ‘pointing at the map that lay on the table, around which myself, Castus, Cannicus, Godarz, Akmon and Afranius were assembled.

‘They’ll march along the Appian Way to Capua, then swing south and either reinforce Crassus or, if he hasn’t got here by then, perhaps assault us themselves.’ Spartacus looked up at us.

‘That’s thirty thousand men,’ said Akmon, his shoulder no longer bandaged, ‘plus whatever Crassus has.’

‘Another thirty thousand,’ said Castus, whose colour had mostly returned to his cheeks.

‘And we have?’ Spartacus looked at Godarz.

‘No more than fifty thousand, probably less, and five thousand of those are only half-fit for duty.’

‘They can still stand and carry a sword,’ remarked Spartacus. He looked at me. ‘Those scouts of yours.’

‘The shepherds?’

‘Yes. They came through the mountains, you say.’

‘Yes, lord.’

He peered at the map. I looked at Akmon, who shrugged unknowingly.

‘If we could stop one of those armies, then we might stand a chance of defeating the other. We could send some of your cavalry through the mountains to attack the Romans on the Appian Way. Nothing big, maybe a thousand horse, and they would only try to slow the Romans down.’ He was talking more to himself now, speaking aloud his thoughts. ‘They won’t be expecting that. They don’t have any cavalry so they won’t have any patrols out, and in any case their guard will be down because they are on home ground and as far as they know we are bottled up here. So, what do you think?’

‘In theory it sounds as though it might work, though if something goes wrong then we lose half our cavalry,’ said Akmon. ‘Why can’t we hit Crassus before the others arrive?’

‘Because this is a good defensive position,’ replied Spartacus. ‘It can’t be outflanked, we have plenty of water and we can make the enemy fight on a ground of our choosing, not his.’

‘I will lead this raid, lord,’ I said. 

‘No, Pacorus,’ said Spartacus, ‘I need you here. Let Nergal lead it. With any luck he will be back within a week.’

I thought of a thousand men and their horses going through the high passes, which may still be full of snowdrifts and lashed by high winds. It was not an inspiring vision. And it might take more than a week.

‘A thousand horse cannot stop thirty thousand troops, lord,’ I remarked.

‘I know that,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘But their task will be to interrupt and disrupt, not defeat.’

‘I doubt they will be able to do even that,’ added Afranius.

He sat with his right leg dangling over the arm of the chair, with a stupid grin across his face, and was displaying that annoying arrogance that had always been his trademark. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, but today was different. Maybe it was because I was annoyed that nearly half my cavalry, which I had recruited, trained and led in battle, was being taken away from me, or more likely was the realisation that the army was living on borrowed time and I would never see my home again. But whatever the reason, I sprang from my chair and lunged at Afranius, knocking him to the ground. I grabbed his tunic with my left hand and hit him hard across the face with the back of my right hand, then clenched my hand into a fist and smashed it into his nose, which began to bleed. I threw him to the floor.

‘I have heard enough of your voice to last a lifetime.’

Enraged, he sprang to his feet and drew his sword, and I retaliated by drawing my
spatha
and faced him. His eyes burned with rage and his face was contorted in a mask of fury. He stood five inches shorter than me and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth, but like an angry dog he stood his ground. I welcomed the opportunity to fight him. I found him irritating and my frustration at the position we were in needed an outlet. I smiled at him, willing him to attack. It would be a joy to kill him. No doubt he thought the same about me.

‘Whoever wins this little schoolboy scrap,’ said Spartacus calmly, ‘I will kill. Put down your weapons or you will both die. Decide!’

Afranius still glared at me but did not move. I glanced at Spartacus who stood with his muscled arms crossed in front of his chest. He had a look of contempt on his face. His friendship meant a lot to me; after all, he was the reason I was with this army. But I also remembered that he was also my commander. I replaced my sword in its scabbard. Afranius smiled in triumph.

‘Put it away, Afranius,’ growled Spartacus, ‘otherwise I will cut off your right hand and have it nailed to your head.’

Akmon rose and pushed the point of his dagger into the small of Afranius’ back.

‘You heard your commander, put it away. You don’t want you to cut yourself, boy.’

Afranius sheathed his sword and sat in sullen silence.

‘Idiots,’ said Spartacus. ‘Sixty thousand Romans marching against us and you want to fight each other. Perhaps we could build an amphitheatre and then the Romans could watch you both fight to the death. A matched pair, just like the old days.’

‘They wouldn’t last ten minutes,’ said Akmon.

‘Perhaps even less,’ added Castus.

‘This is what is going to happen,’ continued Spartacus, regaining his seat. ‘Nergal will take a thousand horse through the passes and interrupt the march of the Romans on the Appian Way. We will stay here and fight Crassus lower down the valley when he returns. Once we have destroyed Crassus, we will make a lunge for Rome and win the war. Questions?’

What could anyone say? It was an insane plan born of desperation. But who was I to assume that it would fail? After all, this was Spartacus, the man who for two years had defeated army after army that Rome had sent against him. The more I thought about it, the more I believed that it might just succeed.

‘You really believe that?’ Gafarn offered me plate full of freshly roasted venison, one of the brace of deer that he had killed that afternoon and which was now roasting over a log fire.

‘Why not?’ I replied, biting off a great chunk of meat, whose juices ran down my cheek. 

‘You don’t think the Romans might have thought of that, also?’ He sat down next to Diana, handing her a plate of meat.

‘Better to fight one Roman army at a time than both combined.’ I replied.

I had arranged the feast to bid Nergal farewell and god-speed, for he and half the horse would be leaving tomorrow, guided though the mountain passes by Byrd’s scouts. Byrd was present, as were Diana, Gallia, Castus, Nergal himself, Godarz and Praxima. The insane Rubi sat behind Gallia and Diana, eating her meat and occasionally looking up and snarling at one of the menfolk who caught her eye. The evening was cool, still being early spring, and made worse by our location in the uplands, so we sat wrapped in our cloaks around the fire that was cooking our venison. 

Byrd jabbed a finger at Gafarn. ‘That one is right, the Romani could attack us here from every direction. My men know of many passes and tracks through these mountains. Fortunately, Romani legions do not know of them.’

I was alarmed. ‘Does Spartacus know this?’ 

Byrd shrugged. ‘Does not matter, I have posted men all around who will warn us of any attack. Besides, it would take long time for Romani army to move through the mountains. And Romani legion doesn’t like to leave its carts behind. Prefer to use roads.’

‘And what about my horse?’ enquired Nergal.

‘My men show you quick way through mountains, have no fear.’

Praxima, sat next to her love, looked at me. ‘I would go with Nergal tomorrow, lord.’

She certainly did not lack for boldness, nor courage come to that. I nodded.

‘You may accompany him, and take some of your Amazons with you. I’m sure Gallia will not object.’

‘I sanction it willingly,’ she said.

‘Good, that’s settled, then.’

I hoped that they would both return, though if they did not then they would die together. I could grant them that privilege at least. 

‘Perhaps we should all go with Nergal over the mountains,’ remarked Castus, his face illuminated by the red glow of the fire. He threw a piece of gristle into the flames.

‘Tired of killing Romans, my friend?’ I asked

‘Tired of living in their backyard, more like. We should get our arses over those hills and then march north as fast as we can.’ He took a large swig of wine. ‘Then we can get over the Alps because it will be summer, and then…’

‘And then?’ I queried.

He sighed loudly. ‘It doesn’t matter now. We are set upon a new road. To be masters of Rome.’

‘You think Spartacus’ plan is ill-advised?’ asked Godarz.

‘I think,’ replied Castus, ‘that Spartacus is a greater general than any that Rome possesses, but he loves this army too much and that will be his downfall.’

‘And you, Castus?’ I asked.

‘I love Spartacus like a brother, as do you, and so our fate is sealed my friend.’ He refilled his cup and drained it. ‘So let us drink and not torment ourselves with what might have been.’

‘Everyone loves this army,’ remarked Diana, staring into the flames, ‘and I love all of you, and that is why no one will leave as long as Spartacus lives. For of all the thousands who stand beside us, it is him that we love above all. That is why we are here. And despite the dangers we face, we are all happy.’

I had never heard Diana talk so much.

‘Because we are free?’ I asked.

She smiled at me. ‘Yes, Pacorus, because we are free. I was but a kitchen slave, destined to live my life no better than an animal.’ She looked at Gallia. ‘But then the gods sent a guardian angel to watch over me and I became free. And I realised that freedom was the greatest gift that a man or woman could receive, greater than any wealth or titles or fame. And I think that it is better to die free than live a lifetime in chains. That is why we are here, and that is why we have no fear.’

The next morning Nergal left an hour after dawn. I watched the horsemen file out of camp and ride north into the forest that blanketed the hills all around us. Led by Byrd and two of his scouts, they would travel on horseback for around an hour, then dismount for the long, slow trek through the mountains. Each rider carried two weeks’ supply of horse fodder, plus two weeks’ rations, though they would supplement their food with whatever they could catch on the way. Nergal said he had never tasted bear and was determined to shoot one. As ever he was in high spirits, especially with Praxima riding with him, but as I watched them diminish in size and then disappear altogether, I suddenly felt a great loss. I did not know why.

In the subsequent days the valley was, as usual, filled with the sounds of workshops and forges mending weapons, fixing mail armour and shoeing horses. Hammers shaped metal on anvils, forges cast new arrowheads and farriers attended to the hooves of our horses. Swords were sharpened, drill filled the lengthening days and patrols ranged far and wide into Campania. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Crassus’ army would be upon us, and so it was, six days after Nergal had taken his men into the west, that a patrol galloped into camp in the late afternoon with news that a large number of Roman troops were leaving Lucania heading towards us. Like so many times before, a council of war was summoned, and then abruptly cancelled. I asked the messenger who brought the news why. He told me that Claudia had gone into labour. As I rode with Gallia, Gafarn and Diana to Spartacus’ tent, the sun disappeared behind grey clouds and the low rumble of thunder came from high up in the valley. The sky continued to darken as black clouds began to gather above us, and then our faces were being assailed by rain, a hard, pelting deluge that appeared as if by magic. The air was rent with loud, violent claps of thunder that startled the horses and caused Remus to rear up in fright. It took all of my skill to regain control of him. As we trotted through the shallow Silarus the rain increased in intensity, striking us like hundreds of tiny darts and soaking us to the skin. A mighty clap of thunder roared overhead and I was thrown from the saddle as Remus reared in terror. He bolted away.

‘Let him go,’ I shouted at the others.

‘Are you hurt?’ asked Gallia.

I shook my head. ‘Only my pride.’

Epona was less frightened, and so Gallia galloped after him, grabbed his reins, and then led him back to me. He was still alarmed, his eyes wide with terror, so I took his reins and walked beside him towards the camp, talking to him in a futile attempt to sooth his fears. The others did the same, four rain-lashed figures pulling frightened horses as overhead thunder and now lightning filled the sky. We arrived at Spartacus’ tent looking like drowned rats. We put the horses in the stable block nearby and I ordered the attendants to stay with them. The rain was still lashing the earth as we entered, and after Gallia and Diana had dried themselves and changed into some of Claudia’s clothes, they went into the bedchamber to see their friend. Already attending Claudia was the Greek doctor Alcaeus in the bedchamber, who ushered Gallia and Diana out after a few minutes. Akmon arrived dripping wet and complaining, while overhead the cracks of thunder grew louder. Guards brought hot porridge and wine from the kitchens positioned just behind the tent. I could hear low groans coming from the bedchamber, and I caught the worried look in Spartacus’ eyes.