The Parthian (19 page)

‘A good day, Spartacus. More recruits are coming in by the hundred. My scouts tell me that most of the estates around Nola have been abandoned.’

‘Good,’ replied Spartacus. He cast me a glance and then looked back at Castus. ‘Are they still there?’

Castus nodded. ‘Excellent. Then we will go and see them.’

‘Just the two of you?’ asked Castus. ‘There might be Romans patrols out.’

‘I doubt it, we haven’t had any reports since we gave them a bloody nose. A few escaped but they would have scurried back to Naples. But if we see any, we’ll get back to Vesuvius.’

‘Even so,’ protested Castus.

‘We can out-run any Romans, Castus. Isn’t that so, Pacorus.’

‘If you say so, lord,’ I answered him.

With that he kicked his horse forward and I followed. We cantered across a wide expanse of grass until we came to a track, along which we rode for about a mile or so. The terrain gradually became more organised, with fields of olive trees right and left, though I saw no one tending them. The sun was high in the sky now and the air was hot. I was glad when we came to a larger expanse of trees on the side of a low hill, through which we rode. The air was still and warm as we directed our horses slowly through the trees. After a few minutes we came to edge of the wood and Spartacus halted his horse. Ahead was a small valley, through which ran a stream. And around the watercourse were groups of horses, some drinking and others munching on the grass. None wore bridles, saddles or harnesses.

‘Whose horses are they?’ I asked.

‘Yours, if you can tame them.’

I felt a tingle of excitement ripple through me. I saw that there was a collection of greys, tans, one or two blacks and others that were chestnut, dun and piebald.

‘Wild horses, Pacorus. If you and your men can tame them then they are yours.’ Spartacus cast me a sideways glance. ‘When do you make your decision whether to stay or go?’

‘Tomorrow, lord. Each man will be free to make up his own mind, as you requested.’

The horse is a sensitive creature, and those on the fringe of the group suddenly became aware of our presence. Their ears flickered, indicating that they were attentive. Others looked up from their grazing and drinking, while some began to move away, their senses telling them danger was present. Though we were hidden from view among the trees, the group was clearly getting agitated. It was time to leave. We rode back to Vesuvius along deserted tracks. When we arrived back at camp we dismounted and walked the horses back to the makeshift stables. People came up to Spartacus and either saluted or embraced him; for his part, he responded to their greetings in kind, always happy to stop and talk. I had to admit that I was warming to him. He may have been a bandit and a slave, but he was clearly a leader who held a motley band together through his personality. That said, the band was getting larger by the day. When we had dismounted another group of young men trooped into the camp, being directed by the guards to a section that had been earmarked for new arrivals. They looked weather-beaten but fit, and Spartacus explained that they were herdsmen.

‘Herdsmen?’ I said.

‘Yes, slaves who are sent by their masters to tends flocks of sheep and goats in the hills.’

‘Are they not guarded?’ I asked.

‘Who can guard those who guard their masters’ animals? No one. Roman vanity does not consider that these men might spend the lonely nights thinking of freedom instead of ensuring their flocks are not attacked by wild animals or stolen by thieves. So they send fit, young men into the hills armed with knives and sticks to look after their investments, certain that they will be good and obedient slaves. All of southern Italy is full of such men.’

‘And now they join you.’

‘And now they join me. Wiping out six Roman cohorts made an impression on everyone, it seems, not just the Romans.’

We reached the stables and handed over our horses to the grooms, some of whom were my men lending a hand.

‘I have to attend to matters of organisation, Pacorus, so I will bid you good day.’

‘Tell, me, I said. ‘Why did you show me that group of wild horses?’

‘I thought you might appreciate the sight, seeing as you Parthians are horse lords.’

‘So it wasn’t an attempt to sway me to stay.’

He laughed. ‘Of course it was. We will have much infantry and no cavalry. Besides, any commander would want a man in his army who has taken a Roman eagle. Your former slave told me, despite his poor Latin, he is very proud of the fact. If you decide to stay with us, you shall be my general of horse.’

I admit I was flattered, and I liked the idea of being a general. But then I remembered that this was not an army but a collection, albeit growing, of runaway slaves. He could see that I was churning over thoughts in my mind.

He offered me his hand to shake. I took it.

‘Until tomorrow, then, Pacorus.’

‘Until tomorrow, lord.’

He walked away and then turned. ‘And Pacorus.’

‘Lord?’

‘You don’t have to call me lord.’

I made my way back to my men slowly, wondering if he knew that I would abide by their decision. That was the least I could do for them. I was their leader when we were captured, and I owed it to them to respect their wishes. All around me men were being drilled and lectured in the use of arms. Some practised stabbing and slashing at thick wooden posts that had been sunk in the ground. They used wooden swords to thrust and slash, while their instructors barked and shouted orders at them. Their shields appeared to be crude wicker affairs, like the ones our foot used in Parthia, and I wondered if there were real shields enough to go round. I walked on, and made way for a column of recruits being drilled. Either side of the column were instructors who used canes to keep individuals in line and in step. I shuddered — it brought back unpleasant memories. I also thought of my own time spent being drilled and practising with weapons. Bozan had believed in the doctrine of train hard, fight easy. So myself and others of my age spent endless hours learning how to fight under a hot Mesopotamian sun with a sword, lance, spear and, above all, a bow. The training was repetitive, so much so that the weapons became extensions of our limbs, and wielding them became second nature to us. My military training started at the age of five. Before that I had been in the company of my mother and other women of the court; afterwards I became a student of Bozan and Hatra’s army instructors. It seemed like yesterday.

I ambled past another group of men, around my age I guessed, throwing javelins. They were dressed in rags most of them, but they had enthusiasm and their sinewy arms and frames indicated years of manual labour. They hurled their shafts hard into the air, cheering as they landed among a host of posts driven into the ground with straw wrapped around them to resemble enemy soldiers. Except that these soldiers didn’t fight back.

The next day I woke early, the sun still making its way into the eastern sky as I pulled back the tent flaps, to find the men waiting for me. They certainly looked better now after a few days of food and rest. There were still red marks around their wrists and ankles where the Romans had manacled them, but they looked like soldiers again. They stood in silence, each of them looking at me. Gafarn, Nergal and Byrd stood in the front row of the semi-circle, waiting for me to say something.

‘Sit, all of you, please,’ I said, as each one found a space on the ground. ‘I told you all that each of you was free to follow his conscience to decide his own course of action. I have told the slave leader Spartacus that we will give him our decision today, but I have to tell you that I will abide by the decision that you make. I am the one responsible for getting you into this mess.’ There were murmurs of disagreement but I held up a hand to still them. ‘Therefore I leave the decision of our course of action to you.’ With that I sat on the grass and waited.

Nergal looked nervously at men either side of him and behind, who urged him to speak. He rose to his feet.

‘Highness, we have talked among ourselves and we thank you for having faith in our sense to make the right decision. But our decision is that you are our commander and we stay with you.’

Gafarn clapped his hands. ‘That is excellent. Prince Pacorus says it is up to you and you say it is up to him. So in effect no one has to make a decision.’ He jabbed a finger at me. ‘You must decide, otherwise we might as well put our chains back on. At least the Romans seem to be able to make decisions.’ His freedom had made him more impertinent than ever. Nevertheless, his words stung me into action. I rose to my feet.

‘Very well. We are in southern Italy and have no means by which to leave this land by the sea. It appears that our best chance is to head north with Spartacus to leave Italy after crossing the Alps. Thereafter we can head east into lands not ruled by the Romans, and then to the Black Sea and Pontus, and thence home. But before we can do that, doubtless we will have to fight the Romans. But that is what we do: fight Romans. They are the enemy and we are soldiers, and it is the duty of every soldier to fight his enemy. This Spartacus wants cavalry, and we are the best cavalry in the world. So we stay and we fight. That is my decision.’

There was a brief moment of silence, then they rose and began cheering and embracing each other. I was happy enough, for now I would have a chance to avenge Bozan and perhaps wipe the shame of my capture. Shamash forgive me, but I also craved glory for myself. That was hopefully in the future, but for now my ambition was to kill Romans and lay their land to waste. Was that evil? I did not think so. They were my enemy and here I was, in their heartland. The Romans wanted to put me in chains and treat me like a dog. Well, this dog was going to bite back.

We ate breakfast in silence, though some of the men smiled at me when I caught their eye. I smiled back. We were a band of brothers in an alien land and I was glad to be in their company. I hoped that they were glad of mine. I still had their trust and respect, I knew that now. I was determined to retain them. I must confess that I was growing fond of the Roman food that was available to us. The former slaves had plentiful supplies of milk from their herds of goats that thronged the slopes of Vesuvius outside of the camp, and Gafarn had spent many an hour while I was lying in my tent recuperating talking to all and sundry about everyday matters. He came back each afternoon with a wealth of information. The country we were in was bountiful in foodstuffs, unlike the barren wastes of much of Hatra, aside from the fertile valleys of the Euphrates and Tigris. Spartacus was generous with his rations. I quickly regained my strength on a diet of broad beans, lentils and chickpeas, lettuces, cabbages and leeks, and fruits such as apples, pears, wild cherries, plums, grapes, walnuts, almonds and chestnuts. Gafarn told me that some of the best wines of Italy came from the region where we were located, which was called Campania, and one evening we were treated to a drink of wine mixed with honey, which the Romans called mulsum. It was wondrous to taste. Aside from porridge, which certainly provided good ballast for the stomach, my favourite dish was named dulca domestica, a delicious concoction of pitted dates stuffed with dried fruit, nuts, cake crumbs and spices, the whole soaked in fruit juice.

I went to see Spartacus after breakfast.

I found him watching what must have been at least a hundred men being instructed in the use of the sword and shield, each of them paired, jabbing and parrying with wooden swords and Roman shields. The instructors who were watching lambasted any that tried an overhead stabbing motion. Each Instructor carried an accursed cane, and wasn’t afraid to use it. They screamed over and over at their charges. ‘Keep your shield close by your side, never over-extend your sword arm, stab your sword forward, never slash, better to stick an enemy with the point than cut him with the side of the blade, you only need to stick two or three inches of steel into him to put him down.’ Spartacus stood like a rock, arms folded, watching the scene. He wore no expression on his iron-hard face, though as I neared him I saw that his eyes were darting to and fro, observing the pairs closely. The instructors shouted encouragement, urging individuals to speed up their movements to find an opening in the opponent’s defence. The spring day was growing hot and I could see great sweat patches on the backs of the men’s tunics. The dull thud of wood striking wood echoed across the flat ground; with the occasional shout as a stick found a fleshy target. I walked up and stood next to him, both of us watching the mock combats spread out before us. His grey eyes were fixed on the practice being carried out.

‘You have reached a decision.’

‘We have decided to stay, lord,’ I said.

I thought I saw a flicker of a smile on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a stony stare. ‘If they catch you again, they will crucify you. There will be no mercy the second time around.’

‘I’ve seen Roman mercy, such as it is,’ I replied. ‘I have no desire to stay in this country, and I believe you are our best chance of my men seeing Hatra again.’

He turned to look at me, and then offered me his hand. ‘There will be much hard fighting before you do. But I am glad that you are with us.’

I clasped his rock-hard forearm in salute, and then he gestured for me to follow him as he walked away from the training.

‘We’re fortunate that most of those coming in are herdsmen and shepherds, men used to hard living in the hills. This lot,’ Spartacus gestured towards the men practicing with swords and shields, ‘will be ready in two or three months. But we need many more if we are to fight our way north.’

As we walked, he told me of how the gladiators had taken refuge in the crater of Vesuvius, and how they had raided local farms for food and weapons. They had gained some recruits, but both slaves and citizens had shied away from what they assumed were just another group of bandits whom the authorities would soon deal with. The arrival of three thousand legionaries from the garrison of Rome seemed to confirm their imminent destruction. But the Romans had underestimated their foe and though they had erected a palisade they had failed to build a wooden wall on top of it. Moreover the gladiators had attacked first, which caught the Romans by surprise. The result was slaughter and the capture of three thousand sets of arms and armour, plus all their camp equipment, food, cattle, horses and wagons. But an even greater boon was the boost the victory gave to recruitment. Suddenly hundreds of former slaves thronged to Vesuvius, and more were coming in each day. Spartacus now had some four thousand men.