The Parthian (73 page)

‘Put your helmet back on, we are withdrawing.’

There was fire in her eyes and adrenalin was clearly pumping through her veins.

‘Why? We should stay and kill more Romans.’

Around me horsemen were turning their mounts around and heading off the beach, as more and more horns were sounding withdrawal.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Get your women off the beach. The Romans are recovering and to stay any longer would be to invite death.’

And so it would, for at the far end of the beach, in the direction of Brundisium, a solid wall of red Roman shields was approaching, their right flank anchored on the water’s edge and their left flank protected by slingers. The later were finding their range and were bringing down horses and riders with their deadly lead pellets. If any cavalry tried to charge them they sought sanctuary behind Roman shields, and then emerged again to unleash another deadly accurate volley of pellets.

Nergal rode up with two companies who stayed on the outer edge of the beach as a covering force. I stayed with them. I watched Gallia and her women trot past me in sullen silence, no doubt aggrieved that I had interrupted their glory. Looking at the beach from right to left, I saw the fresh cohort approaching at a steady pace, while before them lay their dead and wounded comrades, most lying in groups where they had been surprised while sleeping. A few ragged clusters of still-living legionaries stood all along the sand, many bare headed and wounded by arrows or sword and lance thrusts. In the water I counted fifteen ships alight, many blazing fiercely as the flames had taken hold of dry timbers and sails. At the water’s edge was a grim flotsam of Roman dead, men who had tried to escape us by wading into the water, but who had only presented their backs to our arrows as they tried to reach the ships lying offshore. We had not destroyed the Romans, but we had given them a bloody nose and would hopefully slow down their preparations to march south to join Crassus. Nergal told me that a preliminary count had revealed that we had lost only two hundred and fifty men and their horses. Before I rode away I looked one last time at the beach. There must have been ten times that number of Romans lying dead upon the sand. It had been a triumphant morning, but in the south disaster had befallen the slave army.

Chapter 17

T
he ride to the rendezvous point was uneventful, and after a brief muster, roll call and rest, we moved southwest from Caelia to skirt Tarentum and then head south to the empty husk of Metapontum. The men’s spirits were high, and they told and retold each other their stories of the battle on the beach until all vestiges of the truth and rationality had departed.

‘We must have slaughtered their whole army,’ proclaimed Burebista, his left arm in a sling where a javelin had sliced into his forearm. ‘I killed so many that after a while my sword arm became a dead weight that I could no longer lift.’

‘We fired so many arrows,’ added Nergal, ‘that they blocked out the sun.

‘Godarz will be most annoyed by our profligacy,’ I reminded them.

But nothing could shake their delight at giving the Romans a bloody nose, the more so because we had surprised them utterly. We caught up with the wagons after two days, which allowed us to replenish our arrows with the supplies. After three more days of marching we made camp thirty miles south of Siris, along a long curved shingle beach in the Gulf of Tarentum. There we tended those horses that had received wounds and patched up soldiers who had been hurt. The surgeons, formerly slaves who had been trained by their masters to treat wounds, went to work with their tourniquets, ligatures and arterial clamps. Unfortunately, those who had abdominal wounds where the intestines had been pierced were beyond help, and they died despite being treated. Nothing could be done for them. I came across one doctor, a wiry individual with dark skin and a shock of thick black hair who was treating a nasty gash to the right leg of one my horseman. He had cleaned the wound and was about to apply the dressing.

‘What is that on the bandage?’ I asked him out of curiosity.

‘A few spiders’ webs, sir.’

I was horrified. ‘You are going to put spiders’ webs onto his wounds?’

The doctor regarded me with amusement. ‘Of course, it will stop the bleeding and bind the flesh together more quickly.’

He applied the dressing, tied off the bandage then smiled at his patient, who limped back to his company.

‘The cure has been known in Greece for hundred of years, before the Romans stole it, like they do with most things.’

‘Will you ever go back to Greece?’

He motioned to another soldier in line to sit on the stool set before him. The man was holding his left arm, which appeared to be out of its socket, and he told the surgeon that it had happened during a fall from his horse. The surgeon examined the man’s shoulder. He then bent the patient’s elbow at a ninety-degree angle and rotated the arm inwards to make a letter ‘L’. He then slowly and steadily rotated the entire arm and shoulder outwards, keeping the upper portion of the arm as stationary as possible. He made a fist with his hand on his patient’s injured arm, and then held on to his wrist and began to push slowly. Just when the bottom of his arm was past ninety degrees from his chest, the shoulder fell back into its joint. The patient’s face was contorted with pain as the doctor was manipulating his arm, but after a few seconds a look of relief and gratitude came over his visage. He thanked the doctor profusely before leaving.

The doctor turned to me. ‘I am from Corinth and that city is now under Roman rule. I have no wish to go back there.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Alcaeus.’

‘Parthia can always find a use for skilled surgeons.’

‘Thank you, sir. If I am still alive I will consider it, though I have to confess that the chances of that are lengthening the longer we stay in Italy.’

‘You think we are doomed?’

He gestured to another man to sit on the stool. This individual had a bloody bandage wrapped around his leg, no doubt the result of a javelin wound.

‘I think that if we get out of Italy we have a chance, otherwise not.’ He began to gently unwrap the bandage.

‘Then why do you stay with the army?’

‘Simple, sir. The air tastes sweeter when you are free. Better to be a free man for a while than a slave forever. And now, sir, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

We remained in camp for three days before continuing our march south. But on the second day Byrd returned to us, accompanied by a column of horsemen led by Godarz and Gafarn. To say I was surprised was an understatement, and in the pit of my stomach I felt a knot tighten, for I feared that something was wrong. My fears were confirmed when I was informed what had happened. Though Gallia was delighted to see Diana and the deranged Rubi, as were the rest of her Amazons, the faces of Gafarn and Godarz told their own stories. After a brief pause the column continued its journey south, albeit at a leisurely pace as I absorbed what they told me.

‘Afranius’ attack was a disaster,’ said Godarz. ‘He thought that he could wipe out the entire Roman camp, but all he achieved was getting two thousand of his men killed.’

I was stunned. ‘Two thousand?’

‘And many more wounded,’ added Gafarn. ‘Spartacus was furious.’

‘There’s worse,’ said Godarz grimly.

‘The Romans haven’t attacked our army?’ I was becoming alarmed.

Godarz continued to stare fixedly ahead as he spoke. ‘Not yet. But Crassus has built a line of wooden fortifications across the whole peninsula, effectively trapping the army in a giant prison camp.’

‘Impossible,’ snapped Nergal.

Godarz smiled wryly. ‘I assure you that it is very possible and has been done.’

‘It’s true, said Gafarn, ‘and to make things worse that pirate representative…’

‘Patelli?’ I asked.

‘That’s him. Well, he’s gone, absconded in the middle of the night along with his staff and all his ships in the harbour. And to rub salt in the wounds, he took the gold that Spartacus had given him as well.’

‘I knew that slippery bastard was not to be trusted,’ I said, recalling the pirate’s insincere smile, his shifty eyes and easy way with words. 

‘Well,’ continued Godarz, ‘he’s gone and with him our only chance of getting to Sicily. The only alternative now is to break through Crassus’ fortifications. If we don’t the army will starve, simple as that.’

‘How long before the food runs out?’ I asked.

‘Three weeks, maybe less. And this weather isn’t helping. Men starve more quickly when it’s cold.’

I had noticed that over the last few days the temperature had dropped markedly, with a cool northerly wind blowing most of the time during the day, and the mountains in the distance on our right flank were no longer grey mounds, but were now covered in snow. 

Godarz continued. ‘Spartacus ordered us out before it was too late. You are his best hope now, Pacorus.’

That night we camped a few miles north of Sybaris, a city once mighty when occupied by the ancient Greeks, but now a poor relation of Thurii located further south. We built no palisaded camp, but I had patrols riding out to ten miles in all directions to ensure that we were not attacked. We had brought only eight-man Roman tents for our journey, and I now sat huddled in one of these, wrapped in my cloak, as a single oil lamp sat upon the ground and lit the faces of my companions: Godarz, Nergal, Burebista and Gafarn. It was Godarz who did most of the talking, thoroughly briefed as he had been by Spartacus.

He unrolled a parchment map and laid it out before us, securing each corner with small stones he had collected from outside. The map was old and cracked, but I could make out that it showed southern Italy and Sicily, the island we would now never visit. ‘You will have to march south, then swing west across country towards Caprasia where we can march down the Popilian Way. Crassus has built his line of defences about ten miles north of Rhegium, from one shore, then across country to the Ionian coast, on the opposite shore.’

‘What sort of defences?’ I asked.

‘Spartacus mounted a raid when it became apparent what the Romans were doing. It was a failure, but he did capture a centurion who gave a detailed description of what they were building. First, the Romans dug a ditch about twenty feet wide with vertical sides. Then, four hundred or so paces back from the ditch, they dug two more ditches, each about fifteen feet wide. Behind these ditches the legionaries built an earth rampart some twelve feet tall, on the top of which they put a parapet and battlements. And to top it all, every hundred feet or so they have constructed a watch tower.’

‘What happened to the centurion?’ I asked.

‘Spartacus had him crucified in front of the Romans as they were erecting their fortifications.’

‘Horses can’t charge through wooden walls,’ I said. 

‘The best we can do is to create a diversion and hope to draw off some of the Roman troops, so as to weaken one part of their line,’ suggested Nergal. 

Godarz shook his head. ‘No, that won’t do. For one thing the line must be at least twelve miles long. It is no use us attacking at one point and Spartacus attacking at another five miles away. We must attack at the same point as he does, only then will he stand a chance of breaking out.’

‘That’s all very well,’ I said. ‘But each attack must be coordinated to strike the same spot at the same time. That means we, or rather I, have to speak to Spartacus before anything happens.’

‘And there are eight legions between you and him,’ mused Gafarn.

‘The only way in is by boat to Rhegium,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, we must stay hidden until the plans are finalised. Crassus doesn’t realise that we are here, and so we must indulge his ignorance for as long as possible.’

I had nothing else to add and so dismissed them all, leaving me alone to reflect on the nightmare position we were now in. I sought the company of Gallia and found her with her women sharpening their swords and daggers and flighting new arrows.

‘You look troubled.’ Gallia was familiar with my moods and expressions by now, as I was with hers, and as we walked among the horses of her company tethered among linen wind breaks, I could not hide my anxiety. I told her about what had happened at Rhegium.

‘I know, Diana told us.’

‘She should have kept her mouth shut.’

Gallia was stung by my criticism of her friend. ‘Why? Do we not have a right to know what has become of our friends? Some of us have been with Spartacus longer then you.’

I ignored the jibe. ‘It will not be easy to break through those Roman defences. And even if we do, what then? Where will the army go? We will be back where we started all those months ago, and in a far worse position. We should have gone over the Alps when we had the chance.’

‘But we didn’t, so there is no point in wasting words on the matter.’

‘I knew it would end like this,’ I continued. ‘We were so close to freedom, and instead of seizing it we allowed ourselves to become deluded that we could roam through Italy at will. And this is how it turns out.’

‘Why don’t you take out your frustrations on the Romans instead of my ears,’ she said.

‘You think this is a subject for levity? It’s my cavalry that has to shed blood to save the situation.’

‘I thought it was Spartacus’ cavalry. You serve him, do you not?’

‘What? Of course, but I resent having to waste men’s lives on getting the army out of a predicament that it should never have got itself into in the first place. That stupid imbecile Afranius should be held to account for his incompetence.’

‘There is no point in all this, Pacorus.’

‘There is every point,’ I shot back. ‘You don’t understand. I have raised this cavalry and now I have to throw them against fortifications. It’s not right.’

She laughed. ‘Not right? Is that your sense of honour talking again? Would it be right to leave them where they are, to starve or to be killed by the Romans?’

‘Of course not, I was only saying that a night attack against fortifications is unsuitable for horsemen. Skulking around in the dark like a bunch of assassins.’