The Parthian (67 page)

‘My master has vouchsafed the life of Prince Pacorus,’ replied Ajax, still staring at the floor, ‘and no harm will come to him.’

‘Do you trust your master, Ajax?’ asked Spartacus.

‘With my life, sir.’

Spartacus laughed. ‘That much is obvious, for he has sent you into the wolf’s lair sure enough. Well, Pacorus, it is your decision.’

I looked around me. Akmon was shaking his head at me, Claudia was glancing at me and then Spartacus, while Diana looked very worried and Gafarn bemused. I turned to Gallia.

‘I would like to see Rome, I must confess.’

‘It is your choice, my love. But the Romans have put you in chains once; can you be sure they will not do so again, or worse?’

I could not, of course, but I must confess that the chance to see Rome itself was too much to resist. Rubi began hissing at Ajax, until Gallia told her to be silent.

‘I will go with you, Ajax.’

Akmon sighed with disgust, Diana grabbed Gafarn’s arm while Claudia cast her eyes to the floor.

‘It is decided, then,’ said Spartacus.

‘I hope you are not disappointed, lord,’ I said.

‘Of course not. You are free to make your own choices. That is why this army exists, and why the Romans hate us so much.’

While I waited for Remus to be brought to me, I said my farewells. They were more tearful than I expected, though strange to say the quiet presence of Ajax was reassuring. He fervently believed in the word of his master. I hoped he was right. I embraced Gallia and promised that I would take care of myself. As we were walking from the tent Spartacus called after us.

‘Ajax, if anything happens to Pacorus, tell your master that I will kill ten thousand Romans in retaliation.’

Our army was around fifty miles from Rome, and for the first thirty of those a company of men led by Nergal trailed us. In the end I halted and rode to meet them. I sent them back to camp, telling Nergal that their presence would only provoke the Romans into attacking them. Nergal was most unhappy, but reluctantly obeyed and so I was alone with Ajax. We rode at a leisurely pace, he on a brown mare with his cloak wrapped around him, me on Remus dressed in my armour, white crested helmet and white cloak.

‘He’s a fine horse, sir.’

‘His name is Remus.’

‘Ah, named after one of the founders of Rome. A fitting name.’

I patted Remus’ neck. ‘He is a trusty horse, though willful. Which land do you come from, Ajax?’

‘Greece, sir.’

‘Have you always been…’ I hesitated to finish the sentence.

‘A slave? Since I was five, sir.’

‘Where you captured in war?’

‘No, sir, sold by my parents.’

‘Sold by your parents?’

‘It is a common practice. The Romans like Greek slaves to work in their households. They believe we are more intelligent than other races, on account of the great philosophers and writers being in Greece in the time when Rome was but a small village. The Romans wish to be better then the Greeks, you see, and one way they can do that is to learn everything about Greece and the Greeks. Since my first arrival in Rome I was taught languages, the law and financial accounts. And now I help run my master’s household in Rome.’

‘Have you no wish to see your homeland again?’

‘I have seen it, sir, three times. My master owns property in Greece as well as in Italy, and his business interests have taken me to Athens twice and Corinth once. But I have no wish to live there. I find the people irksome, with their continual complaints about living under foreign rule and their longing for the Golden Age.’

‘What is that?’

‘Supposedly when every Greek was free and lived in prosperity. In reality, it was a time of constant war when cities were burned and people enslaved. One only has to read their histories to discover that this was so. At least Greece is peaceful now.’

‘But under a Roman yoke.’

He laughed. ‘All men live under some sort of yoke, sir, even kings and princes. The burden of wanting to be a great or just king, or the continual lust for glory. For the poor man, the yoke of filling the bellies of his wife and children with food can grind him into nothing. The yoke of Roman rule can be worn lightly enough.’

I thought about the thousands of slaves toiling under the lash in the fields or in the mines. No doubt they would have a different view.

We stopped for the night in a well-appointed inn by the side of the road, which had good stables, clean albeit sparse rooms and served simple food in large portions. Ajax paid for our rooms in advance, with an extra amount for the horses to be watered and fed and then groomed. He paid the innkeeper in gold coins from a large purse that was full of money. He spoke to the man, a portly middle-aged gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a bushy beard, as an equal, and to the man’s servants as a master.

We set off at mid-morning under an overcast sky. Remus had been cared for well, and I had to admit that it was nice to sleep in a bed again. Ajax informed me that we would be in Rome by the afternoon, and I felt a tingle of excitement in my stomach. As we got nearer the city the amount of traffic on the road increased. Carts overfilled with wares to sell in the markets, herds of cattle and goats being marshalled for sale and then slaughter, and groups of travellers on foot heading both east and west. Most paid us no heed as we rode on the verge by the side of the road, for Ajax’s horse had no iron shoes on its feet. We were just two more among the throng that was heading for the city. I rode bare headed that day, fastening my helmet to the saddle. Amid the bustle and chatter of a thousand voices, war and killing seemed far away.

We had travelled along a road that Ajax informed me was called the Via Salaria, which like all Roman roads was a masterpiece of engineering. As we neared the city itself I began to see more and more gateways either side of the road, each one set in an immaculate high, white stone wall and leading to a grand villa. Ajax told me that they were called
pars urbana
, where rich citizens sought quiet and refuge from the bustle and smells of Rome. He informed me that his master did not have such a residence, being content to have one house only, in Rome itself.

We entered the city through the
Porta Collina
, the so-called ‘hill gate’, a massive structure with two three-story gatehouses flanking the two wooden gates, which were studded with great iron spikes. The walls either side of the gates were thirty feet high and patrolled by legionaries. There were also soldiers at the gates, who cast a watchful eye over all who were entering and leaving the city. A centurion watched us as we ambled up to the gates and then passed by him, but though he frowned at my long hair he did not stop us. Ajax must have noticed my unease.

‘Have no fear, sir. Many different races come to Rome. For all they know, you might be a foreign merchant coming to the city to seal a deal.’

I carried only my sword for protection, no bow, and those who looked at me at all must have assumed that I was a foreign soldier of some sort. By the different skin colours on display and the languages I had heard on the road, I realised that Rome must contain a host of different races. There were dark-skinned Africans, Arabs in their flowing robes, Jews with straggly beards, and fair-skinned men and women who must have originated from north of the Alps. One thing was certain, a solitary Parthian would not stand out among this collection of various peoples.

‘Do they close the gates at night?’

‘They do, sir, though the city has grown considerably since the walls were first built, and now large sections of Rome lie outside of the walls. And now, sir, if you please, we must wait for our escort.’

‘Escort?’

‘Oh yes. Otherwise it would take forever to get to my master’s house.’

We waited for around ten minutes, and then a detachment of legionaries appeared. There were twenty of them, commanded by a burly centurion with a red crest atop his helmet and the ubiquitous vine cane in his right hand. He saluted Ajax stiffly, noted me and then barked orders at his men, who formed up either side and in front of us, with the centurion at the head.

‘We must be at my master’s house by noon, centurion. Our business is most important.’

We travelled through streets teeming with people and crammed full of shops, taverns and eating places. Most of the buildings were whitewashed multi-storey affairs, with shops and eating places on the ground floor and lodgings above them. The level of activity was frenetic, with thousands of citizens shouting, arguing, laughing and haggling at the tops of their voices. The soldiers pushed anyone in their way rudely aside, and the centurion would occasionally shout. ‘Make way, by order of General Marcus Licinius Crassus.’ This Crassus was a man of some importance, given that people did indeed move out of the way at the mere mention of his name. Our journey took us to a flat-topped hill with two separate peaks called, so Ajax informed me, the Palatium and the Ceramulus. The hill itself was called the Palatine and was home to General Crassus, and judging by the magnificent villas that adorned it was also home to Rome’s richest residents. Here there were no crowds or shops, just walled villas, immaculately kept roads and quiet. We halted in front of a pair of wooden gates set in a high stonewall at which the road we were on ended. Ajax dismissed the centurion, who marched away with his legionaries. We dismounted and Ajax knocked at one of the gates. A pair of eyes appeared at a peephole and seconds later the gates opened. We rode through them and into a large landscaped garden filled with exotic shrubs, trees and brightly coloured flowers. Gardeners were tending to flower beds while other slaves were feeding huge carp that swam in ornate ponds. It was truly a magnificent place, heavy with sweet scents, and would certainly rival our own royal gardens in Hatra. Two slaves took our horses (Ajax assured me that Remus would be well cared for — I did not doubt him), and then we walked along a path flanked by cypresses to the villa itself, which had a peristyle of white stone columns enclosing the interior of the building itself. A slave approached and bowed to Ajax.

‘The master wonders if our guest would like to bathe and change his clothes before he eats.’

‘Perhaps a bath and message before dining, Prince Pacorus?’ Ajax said.

‘Thank you, that would be most welcome,’ I replied.

The massive villa had its own baths, a beautiful tiled structure with a steam room and an adjacent pool of cool water. After washing and steaming the dust and grime of the journey from my limbs, a small, muscular Numibian massaged my body, his strong, bony fingers reaching deep into my joints and sinews. I emerged from his hour-long session feeling refreshed and invigorated; indeed, not since I had felt in Hatra had I been so relaxed. I was then led to my room, a large, sumptuous area with a white stone balcony with an intricate stone balustrade that had an impressive view of the city of Rome. The city was huge, its buildings sprawling into the distance. In truth I had never seen such a large city, and at that moment I feared for Spartacus and his army. I also remembered the words of King Ambiorix that Rome never seemed to run out of armies. I understood this now, for you could fit ten cities the size of Hatra inside Rome.

Fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed, a white silk tunic, sandals and a belt of black leather. After I had changed into them a slave came and took my old clothes away to be cleaned, while Ajax also appeared to escort me to dinner. We walked along corridors adorned with marble busts of stern-looking Roman gentlemen on columns and walls painted with beautiful frescos depicting mythical scenes from Rome’s ancient history. Ajax ushered me into a medium-sized room that was occupied by a number of large sofas piled with cushions, upon which reclined a man dressed in a white toga, who upon my entering rose and walked towards me.

Ajax stood stiffly to attention. ‘Prince Pacorus, may I present to you my master, Marcus Licinius Crassus, senator and general of Rome.’

The man who stood before me was perhaps forty years old, of average height with a full head of neatly cut brown hair. He had a broad forehead, long nose and large ears. His visage was rather severe, accentuated by his rather thin lips. I bowed my head to him, as befitting his rank.

‘An honour, sir.’

‘The honour is mine, Prince Pacorus.’ His voice was deep, his tone serious. He gestured with his right hand towards the sofas. ‘Please, be seated so that we may eat.’

I knew that rich Romans liked to eat whilst reclining on sofas, a habit that I found curious but not unpleasant. I reclined on my left side whilst Crassus, his sofa at right angles to mine, reclined on his right side. Ajax clapped his hands and a procession of servants served us a variety of exotic dishes. First we were served salad with asparagus and salted fish. Then followed combinations of game and poultry. The wine we were served was truly wonderful, no doubt made from the finest grapes. I was aware all the time that Crassus was observing me as I was eating, and noted with surprise that I thanked each slave who offered me a tray of food.

‘You find the food to your satisfaction, Prince Pacorus?’

‘Very much so, sir.’

‘And your room is comfortable?’

‘A most impressive view of the city.’

He nodded and sat up on his couch. ‘Good. You must be wondering why I asked you here.’

‘I assume it was not just for the pleasure of my company.’

‘Mm. Let us then get to the matter in hand. I have been entrusted by the Senate and people of Rome with the task of destroying the slave army led by the criminal Spartacus. This being the case, I thought it prudent to meet the man who is responsible for that army being able to vanquish so many of Rome’s legions.’

‘You flatter me, sir. But I am just a small part of that army.’

‘Indeed. Your cavalry is but a small part of the whole, but it is like the keystone in the structure of a bridge. Small, but essential. Take that stone out and the whole edifice collapses.’

The thought suddenly crossed my mind that he intended to have me killed here, today. ‘My death will avail you not, for my commanders are all competent and will lead the cavalry without me.’