by Peter Darman
Chapter 11
The only person who could help me was Lucius Domitus, the ex-centurion who now happily trained recruits to kill his fellow Romans. I was suspicious of him at first, but Akmon told me that he was an excellent instructor, albeit a hard taskmaster. I did not doubt that, as all centurions seemed to have an inbred callous streak. Nevertheless, he was the man I needed and so I paid him a visit on an expanse of ground upon which stood dozens of upright wooden posts, and against these posts recruits equipped with wicker shields and armed with wooden swords were practising their skills. Domitus was obviously enjoying his position immensely, hurling a stream of obscenities against the men in his charge. I strolled over to watch him, cane in hand, walking up and down the rows of sweating soldiers stabbing at the posts, keeping their shields tight to their bodies and being careful not to overextend their sword arms. And every once in a while Domitus would hit a man with his cane (so much for not being allowed to strike his recruits), then scream at him the reason for the blow. I had the feeling that he could do this all day and all night, such was his delight. He saw me and walked over.
‘Fancy some sword practice, sir?’
‘Er, no, thank you. How are they progressing?’
‘Good,’ he replied, smiling. ‘They’ll soon be ready for the real thing.’
‘You don’t mind training them to kill Romans?’
‘Why should I?’ he shrugged. ‘I was condemned to death in the mines and Spartacus freed me. Reckon I owe him for that. He’s quite a charismatic character, don’t you think?’
‘Yes he is.’
He opened his water bottle and took a swig, then offered it to me, before bellowing at the top of his voice for the soldiers to stop slacking.
‘I’m guessing that you didn’t come over here just to pass the time of day.’
‘I need your advice,’ I said.
He seemed pleased by this as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Of course.’
‘I need to get into Thurri.’
‘Easy enough,’ he replied, ‘you will need plenty of coin, though. You can pay a smuggler to get you in by the sea. You give him half of what he wants, he drops you at the docks and then picks you up at the agreed time, after which you pay him the rest of the fare at the end of the return trip.’
‘Seems simple enough.’
‘Simple but dangerous, especially for you. Chances are that any sailor worth his salt would take your money and then sell you to the authorities for a fat profit.’
‘I see,’ I must have looked dejected as he then made me an offer.
‘I could arrange for your passage, make up a story about me wanting to get into the city to see a relative.’
‘So how do I fit into your plan?’
‘Oh, you could be my slave. No one would bat an eyelid.’
‘A slave!’ I was not amused.
‘It’s the only way, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m a Roman, so no one is even going to look at you if they think you are my slave. You would be invisible, so to speak.’
‘What’s to stop you selling me to the authorities?’
He looked hurt. ‘Absolutely nothing, apart from the fact that I too have a price on my head once they found out who I was. So it would be death in the arena for you and likely me standing beside you. I told you, I owe Spartacus and I know he esteems you highly, so in a way I am paying him back part of the debt I owe him.’
In truth I could not see the logic of his answer, but he had a raw honesty that made me almost trust him. I could have forgotten the idea there and then, but my thirst for revenge needed to be sated. I decided to put my life in the hands of this former centurion. I told him that I agreed to his plan, and two days later found myself standing behind Domitus on a beach less than three miles north of Thurri.
I had asked Spartacus’ permission to go to the city and at first he was reluctant.
‘What’s done, is done, Pacorus.’
But I was insistent. ‘No, lord, not yet.’
‘And if I lose my cavalry commander, what then?’
‘Then Nergal will take my place. He has ability.’
‘But not as much as you. I do not like the idea, I have to tell you. All for the sake of pride.’
‘Not pride, lord, my honour has been offended. I cannot let this slight go unpunished.’
He shook his head. ‘You are a strange one, Pacorus. Do you think honour will act as a shield against Roman swords and javelins, will honour get you out of Italy?’
‘No, lord, but it is important to me. And the idea of that fat merchant sitting in the city laughing at me gnaws away at my very soul.’
He threw up his hands. ‘Go, then, but if you are caught you are on your own. You will be alone with your honour.’
‘Thank you, lord.’
‘I hope it is worth the effort.’
It was quiet in the dark save for the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Domitus was dressed in a beige tunic, boots, red cloak and had his gladius in a scabbard at his left hip. He carried his ubiquitous vine cane in his right hand. Lean, with short-cropped hair and muscular arms, he looked every bit the Roman centurion. I, on the other hand, must have looked a sorry figure, with my coarse brown tunic and bleached cloak, called a peanula, with its hood pulled over my head. The only weapon was my dagger that I carried hidden in my tunic. Domitus had a leather pouch tied to his belt, in which was a plentiful supply of silver coins – part of the loot that we had acquired on our travels. It was, to use his own words, ‘a tidy sum’. I was worried that we were too close to the Gauls’ camp for any boats to approach the shore, but Domitus assured me that there was a brisk trade between our army and the small boat owners of the city, all going on with the full knowledge of the Gauls.
‘What does Crixus like, apart from fighting and killing?’ he asked me as we waited.
‘Drinking,’ I replied.
‘Exactly, and for gold and silver he is provided with the best wines from Italy and Greece. His men probably use this beach, and in return they get all the gossip about what’s going on in Thurri and elsewhere.’
‘Does Spartacus know this is going on?’ I asked.
‘Course, but the thing is that Crixus gets to learn all the gossip, sir.’
‘So?’ I failed to see what value small talk could be to us.
‘So’ said Domitus, indicating irritation at my failure to see the obvious, ‘if the Romans are assembling a fleet of warships to land an army on this stretch of the coast, then friend Crixus gets to hear of it well in advance. Small price to pay for a few gold coins that weren’t his in the first place. Ah, here’s the boat.’
The boat was a small, single-masted fishing vessel that reeked of rotting fish and salt. I gave Domitus a piggyback ride to the boat, as he said we had to maintain the pretence of master and slave at all times. He was helped aboard by a reptilian-like man who stank even worse than his boat; the captain I assumed. With Domitus aboard I was left to haul myself onto the reeking vessel, and then told to sit at the bow while my ‘master’ sat with the skipper at the stern. Two crew members sat side-by-side amidships, each holding an oar that they used to get us away from the shore and out to sea. In the gloom I must confess I was nervous, being in a small boat on a large ocean, but the captain chatted away without concern to Domitus, who replied with single-word answers. I stared down at my feet during the journey, which took less time than I thought, for within an hour we were sailing slowly into the harbour at Thurri. The docks were lit up by lines of beacons arranged on two curved breakwaters that protected the harbour, with a tall stone lighthouse standing at the end of one of them. The quays were crammed with vessels of every variety and size moored side-by-side. It may have been a city under siege, but the people of Thurri would not starve, such was the volume of shipping in the harbour. On its landward side stood a series of wharves and porticoes to accommodate traders and their goods while either in storage or transit, though because it was night the level of activity was low
.
Our miserable vessel docked at a wharf and Domitus paid the captain half the agreed fee. He showed him the rest of the coins and told him to be waiting for us at exactly the same spot at midday tomorrow.
‘We’ll be here, dominus,’ he replied with the expectation of more easy money, though as I followed Domitus past the warehouses and into the city I wondered if he would go straight to the nearest barracks and inform the centurion on guard. Then again, he had no reason to suspect anything. Domitus was obviously a Roman citizen and I was obviously his slave. We found accommodation for the night in a dirty, lice-ridden inn run by a fat oaf who had three chins but only one front tooth. The inn was near the docks and was full of rough-looking sailors who sat around the tables in the dining area, shoving food into their mouths with their fingers, drinking and generally arguing with anyone at hand. Domitus ordered himself a meal of pork, bread and wine, while I trudged outside to find a place in the courtyard, outside the stable block. There were other slaves already there, grey shapes lying along the wall, most sleeping. I took my place beside them, just another bundle of human misery. Domitus came out into the courtyard a while later with a jug of water and a piece of bread. I drank the water but refused the bread, which was as hard as rock.
‘We leave at dawn,’ I whispered to him. ‘I hope you have eaten and drunk your fill.’
He must have noted the sarcasm in my voice. ‘I have, thank you slave.’
I hardly slept at all that night, and as the dawn broke cold and grey I trudged over to wash my face in the horse trough and waited for Domitus, who emerged clean-shaven and smiling from the inn. My fellow sleeping companions were also stirring, and so I pulled the hood over my head to hide my long hair and we left the courtyard. Domitus led as we walked into the street and paced briskly along a narrow pavement.
‘The rich houses are in the northern part of the city,’ said Domitus. ‘Marcus Aristius lives in a villa called the Merchant’s House, apparently. But we’re not going there.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because Abundantia has spread her legs for you today.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ I said.
‘Abundantia is the goddess of luck. Last night I was chatting to one of the sailors and he told me that a batch of African slaves is being auctioned today at the market. Now what I’ve heard about this Marcus Aristius, I think there’s a good chance that he will be there.’
He was right, especially if young boys were being sold, and so we went to the slave market. The smell of human misery and unwashed bodies met our nostrils before our eyes beheld the dozens of men, women and children who were on sale. Hundreds of citizens, ranging from the very wealthy to the decidedly ordinary, were present, observing, bidding for and examining the slaves with sticks. Some slaves, mostly women, stood naked on revolving stands so potential buyers could see exactly what they were purchasing. Others were standing on raised wooden platforms, their heads down and blank expressions on their faces. Some slaves had one foot whitened with chalk, which Domitus told me meant they were new arrivals from abroad. Others had placards hanging from their necks, upon which were written details concerning their nationality, origins, good and bad characteristics and any skills they possessed. A brisk trade was being conducted, with buyers and sellers haggling and arguing over the prices of individual slaves or whole batches. I still had my hood over my head and my cloak tied in front of me to preserve my anonymity, but as I followed Domitus around the market I looked out for Aristius. I was beginning to think our journey was in vain when I caught sight of him, an effeminate fat man dressed in an expensive toga with gold rings on his flabby fingers. As far as I could tell he was alone, though no doubt he had slaves nearby to carry his litter. I saw immediately why he was at this particular spot, for in front of him were arranged half a dozen young black boys, no more than sixteen years old. Each had a whitened foot and wore only a loincloth.
‘That’s the bastard, there, looking at those boys. So let’s get nearer to the fat oaf,’ I whispered to Domitus who walked slowly in front of me. He ambled over to stand next to Aristius, who was in the middle of a heated debate with the seller, another fat man who was going bald and who spoke in a curious accent that I could not place.
‘Six thousand denarii is an exorbitant price,’ said an irritated Aristius.
‘Fresh young boys from north Africa don’t come cheap, so they don’t,’ retorted the seller, standing his ground.
Aristius was clearly drooling over the young slaves and could obviously afford the goods on offer, but was determined to drive down the price. A small crowd had gathered around him as he haggled over the slaves, and so I edged closer towards him.
‘There might be something wrong with them,’ he said, waving a stubby finger at the boys.
‘They’re nearly naked,’ said the seller, ‘you can see that they be just about perfect.’
‘I need to see them naked,’ announced Aristius.
The slave trader sighed and nodded to one of his assistants, who indicated that the boys should remove their loincloths. They did so and Aristius’ eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as the boys stood naked before him. I turned to Domitus.
‘Give me some coins.’
He passed me a handful of silver coins as I moved to stand behind Aristius. Others crowded around to see what was going on.
‘As you can see, there’s nothing wrong with them,’ said the slave trader.
‘They may have been interfered with on the journey. I know what these sailors are like. Get them to turn round.’
‘What?’ The slave trader was starting to lose patience.
‘If I am satisfied that they have not been violated and are still complete, then you will have the asking price,’ said Aristius.
The slave trader sighed again and signalled to his assistant, who placed his stick on the back of the first slave’s neck and forced him to bend over. Aristius leaned forward to stare at the boy’s backside.
At that moment I threw a large handful of silver coins onto the ground in front of him. Instantly there was a mad scramble as all and sundry made an attempt to grab the money, including Aristius. For all his property and wealth he was, in the final analysis, possessed of an insatiable greed for money. However, those around him had a similar idea and he was ignominiously barged aside and shoved face-down on the ground. I stood over him in the commotion, bent down and drew my dagger across his throat, then stood up and walked briskly away without looking back; Domitus followed. It was a few seconds before I heard the screams and shouts as people realised that the rich, fat merchant had had his throat slit.
Many think that murderers commit their crimes in the dark and in the shadows, but in truth it is easy enough to kill someone in broad daylight in front of hundreds of potential witnesses and not be noticed. As we left the market I made sure there was no blood on my cloak, and checked that my dagger was safely hidden. The journey back to the docks was uneventful. We were a master and his slave making their way through crowded streets filled with shoppers and traders. When we arrived at the docks, the quays and warehouses were teeming with activity and small boats and larger vessels were exiting and entering the crowded harbour. City life was carrying on as normal and we were just two insignificant individuals going about our business. I resisted the temptation to keep glancing behind me lest I draw attention to us, but I still had a nagging doubt that we would be arrested at any moment. To my great relief we made it back to the fishing boat that had brought us into Thurri, and which remained moored to the jetty awaiting our return. In the light it looked even more disgusting than I had imagined, with fish heads littering the floor and the inside of the boat smeared with fish scales and what looked like blood. As I descended the steps to board the boat, its fetid odour made me recoil.
Once we were settled in the boat the captain demanded his money, only to be told in no uncertain terms by Domitus that he would have it when he had delivered us back to the beach from where we had
been picked up. The captain grumbled and screwed up his pock-marked face but duly agreed, and within minutes his crew had unfurled the dirty brown sail and was rowing us out of the harbour, past warships and assorted cargo vessels that were sailing the other way. Looking at the hive of activity, I doubted if our half-hearted siege was having much effect on the citizenry. We did, however, posses the city's silver mine, though I wondered how long we would have that, for with the coming of spring the army would be striking camp and marching north. The day was warm and the sea breeze light and pleasant, and the gentle rocking of the boat as it glided across the calm sea made my eyelids heavy. The lack of sleep the night before and the excitement of sending Marcus Aristius to the underworld suddenly made me feel very tired. I drifted off to sleep, only to be rudely awakened by being drenched in seawater. I awoke with a start and glared at the captain who stood with a leer on his face, holding an empty leather bucket.
‘You should get rid of him,’ he said to Domitus, ‘a slave’s no use if he’s lazy. Why don’t you let me throw him over the side.’
Domitus stood and took the captain’s bucket and threw it down. ‘I will punish my slave as and when he requires it, no one else.’
The captain sniffed and spat over the side of the boat. ‘Suit yourself, but I can see he’s a defiant bastard. You should use your vine cane on him more often.’
I debated whether to slit the captain’s throat, too, but decided that it was far less trouble to endure his taunts and remain silent. In any case, I could not sail a boat and I doubted if Domitus had any nautical skills. The final part of the journey entailed having to endure the other two crew members throwing fish heads at me to amuse themselves, as the wind had increased and the boat was now under sail power only. I kept my hood up and my face down as they taunted me. Domitus smiled awkwardly while this was going on and just as I thought that I could tolerate no more and that I would have to kill them all, the captain told them to stop their playing and trim the sail, for we were nearing the beach. He dropped the small, rusty anchor a hundred yards or more from the shoreline and said he would go no closer.
‘Vast horde of slaves on land,’ he said. He had shown no such reluctance the previous evening, and suspected that the real reason was that he wanted to see me discomforted some more, for when I jumped into the water it came up to my shoulders, and I had great difficulty remaining upright as I waded ashore with Domitus, who had paid him his fee, on my shoulders, as befitting my ‘master’. I was incandescent with rage when he finally jumped down onto the soft sand and waved farewell to the captain and his miserable vessel.
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ said Domitus. ‘Not worth breaking the pretence over a few words.’
‘I was seriously thinking of killing all of them.’
He smiled. ‘At least you only had to put up with it for a short time. Imagine having to live the life of slave until you die.’
‘I would rather not.’
‘Do they have slaves in Parthia?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Not much difference between Rome and Parthia, then.’
I started walking back to camp, which was some miles away. ‘A great deal of difference,’ I replied, irritably, but in truth there was not, not if you were a slave. I did not like to be reminded of the fact, or that my father had sold the Roman legionaries we had taken captive at Zeugma all those months ago. What was their life like now? Were they even still alive?
‘No offence, sir,’ said Domitus.
I raised my hand to acknowledge his apology, but I was still thinking about the slaves in the royal palace at Hatra. Dozens of them, all individuals who presumably had their own hopes and fears. Even Gafarn had been a slave. Well, at least he was now free. The thought cheered me little as Domitus and I walked into camp. I invited Domitus to eat with me that evening and he seemed pleased that I had done so. At my tent I penned a short note to Spartacus and asked Domitus to deliver it. I offered him a horse from the stables that had been built in the middle of the camp but he refused.
‘Can’t ride, sir. Never fancied being in the cavalry. I prefer to fight on my own two feet.’
‘You should learn. Speak to Gafarn and he will give you some lessons. It’s a useful skill to have.’
After he had left I saddled Remus and rode out to the archery field. There I found Gallia, her women and Gafarn, all sharpening their skills. They stopped when they saw me and Gallia rushed over and embraced me, but recoiled as she went to kiss me.
‘You smell bad, you should go and bathe.’
‘Perhaps you would like to bathe together,’ I suggested, but she grimaced and pushed me away.
‘I’m glad you are safe, but you should burn those clothes.’
Gafarn approached then also recoiled from me. ‘Dear me, highness, the conditions in Thurri must be atrocious. I trust your mission was successful.’
‘Marcus Aristius has paid for his treachery. I will now take my leave to make myself more presentable.’
I acquired a fresh tunic and trousers and found a fast-flowing stream filled with melt water from the mountains. The water was cold when I jumped in and took my breath away, but it was good to feel the filth of Thurri being washed from my body. I shaved the stubble from my cheeks and combed my hair, which had become matted with fish scales. Afterwards I burned the tunic and cloak that I had worn in the city and rode back to camp. That night it felt good to be back in the company of my close companions. There was Nergal, his arms wrapped around Praxima, joking and cajoling Burebista, who was explaining to everyone how Dacians were better horsemen than Parthians because Dacia had large forests that required riders to weave around individual trees, whereas Parthia was flat and treeless and therefore required no skill at all in the saddle. Gafarn and Diana sat next to each other and held hands all evening, thinking they had concealed this from everyone. Godarz sat next to Domitus, who suggested that we should all have a piggy-back fight though warned everyone that I had an unfair advantage, and then proceeded to recount the journey to and from Thurri. Gallia, my Gallic princess, looking like a golden-haired goddess from the heavens, laughed and teased me, her blue eyes alight as she laughed and joked. She wore a dress the colour of her eyes with gold bracelets on her wrists and a gold leaf headband in her hair. I toasted her beauty and she blushed, and when I whispered in her ear that I loved her she brushed my cheek and said she felt the same about me. I wanted that night to last forever as we ate good food, drank excellent wine and basked in fine company. But only the gods can freeze time and live in a bubble of permanent happiness, and sure enough the dawn came and with it the cold reality of what had to be done. For in the morning I received a messenger from Spartacus summoning me to a council of war. Spring was in full bloom and the coming of the new season meant that our time here was done. We had spent the winter turning raw recruits into soldiers and making weapons with which they could fight. The period of preparation was over; the time for fighting had arrived.
We were going to war again.
I took Godarz, Nergal and Burebista with me as befitting their status as my senior officers, though Godarz was also the quartermaster for the whole army and so technically he could attend without my permission. By now the army filled a vast area between the foothills of the Sila Mountains and the Gulf of Tarentum, the coastal plain playing host to thousands of men, women, horses and livestock. Mounted patrols were sent north as far as Siris and south to Paternum, and I established several smaller camps between those two places and the main camp, both to provide a defensive screen for the army and also to save the area around Thurri from being laid waste, for an army is a ravenous beast and can strip a land bare quicker than a plague of locusts. Temporary log stables and workshops had sprung up alongside tents and earth banks surmounted with palisades. Spartacus had insisted that all the main camps should be constructed in the Roman fashion, with blocks of tents arranged in a grid arrangement and protected by an earth rampart, ditch and palisade. Entry and exit was via four gate
s, each guarded and defended by two tree trunks, each one covered with many long iron spikes that could be thrown across the entrance and which would impale anyone foolish enough to try and climb over them. We lived like Romans, our soldiers were armed and equipped like Romans, drilled like Romans and fought like Romans. At least my cavalry used Parthian tactics.
As we rode into the Thracian camp columns of soldiers were marching out, rank upon rank of men carrying shields, javelins and wearing mail shirts and helmets. Marching out for another day’s relentless drill practice. Train hard, fight easy; learn drills and commands until they become second nature, until you can carry them out them without thinking, even do them in your sleep. Warfare is thus reduced to its most basic and simple: long periods of boredom interspersed with shorter periods of organised terror.
The council gathered in Spartacus’ tent as usual, though when we entered there was an air of gloom hanging over the gathering. Spartacus sat resting his chin on his right arm, Akmon fidgeted with his cup and Castus was shaking his head. Crixus looked defiant.
Spartacus nodded at me then looked at Crixus. ‘Crixus, perhaps you would like to tell Pacorus your news, I’m sure he will be interested.’
‘Why?’ growled the Gaul. ‘I’ve told everyone who’s important.’
‘Crixus and his Gauls are leaving the army,’ said Spartacus to me. My heart leapt and I struggled to suppress a smile.
‘Madness,’ added Akmon, ‘sheer madness.’
‘I speak for my people,’ said Crixus, ‘and their desire is for us to leave this place.’
‘And go where, Crixus?’ asked Spartacus. ‘We march north to get out of Italy, but where will you march to? Have you forgotten about the Romans, for it is certain that they have not forgotten about you.’
‘They, and I, have no desire to go back to Gaul,’ said Crixus, angrily. ‘It is under the heel of Rome so why should we fight to get back to a place that is full of Roman soldiers?’
‘There are other places,’ said Castus.
‘What, Germany?’ retorted Crixus, ‘a land of damp, dark forests. I would rather live in the sun. We will stay in Italy.’
Everyone save Crixus and Dumnorix, his ragged-haired second-in-command, were stunned.
‘Italy! You are truly insane,’ said Spartacus, holding out his arms in a gesture of exasperation.
Crixus jumped up. ‘Who are you to say what we can or cannot do?’
I suspected that we were approaching the real reason for the Gauls’ decision. ‘You talk a lot about freedom, about every man being free to follow his own conscience. But when it comes to it, we are mere subjects for you to order about. We have been here for months doing nothing when we could have been conquering land and killing Romans. You have become like a king, Spartacus.’ He pointed at me. ‘You even surround yourself with princes. Well, I say no more, and neither do my people.’
He sat back down and there was an awkward silence. Eventually Spartacus spoke.
‘If you stay in Italy you will die, Crixus. That much is certain.’
Crixus laughed. ‘All death is certain. That’s what I was told at the ludus, and I survived that. We can destroy anything they send against us.’
Clearly there was no telling Crixus anything and so Spartacus gave up. I certainly was not going to attempt to dissuade him.
‘Akmon,’ said Spartacus. ‘Please give us a summary of the army’s condition.’
Akmon unrolled a scroll placed on the table in front of him and read it aloud.
‘We have fully trained twenty thousand Thracians, ten thousand Germans, four thousand Spaniards, three thousand cavalry and fourteen thousand Gauls, soon to depart from us. Concerning weapons and armour, fully four-fifths of the soldiers have weapons, shields and armour. The rest either have no armour or a helmet only, but all have a weapon of some description.’
‘Are all your cavalry fully armed, Pacorus?’ asked Spartacus.
‘All are armed, lord, but a third are without helmets or mail shirts.’
‘Does that include the women?’ sneered Crixus, prompting Dumnorix to snigger beside him.
‘Mock all you want,’ I replied, ‘I am glad to have them fighting with me.’
‘Enough,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘Crixus, you and your men will leave in two days. I see no reason for you to stay if you desire to leave.’
Crixus rose from his chair and bowed. ‘As your majesty desires,’ then walked out of the tent. That was the last time I saw him alive. Dumnorix followed him and when they had left I stretched myself out in the chair and sighed deeply. ‘Alas for Crixus.’
‘I thought you would be pleased,’ said Spartacus.
‘We’ve just lost a quarter of the army,’ said Godarz, dejectedly.
‘And good fighters,’ added Akmon.
‘Is there anyone else who wishes to follow Crixus?’ Spartacus looked at each of us in turn. No one spoke.
‘Very well. We will be departing in two weeks’ time. We will burn all we cannot take with us. Akmon, see to it that the mine is destroyed.’
‘What about the Romans who are working in it?’ asked his subordinate.
Spartacus shrugged. ‘Break each man’s right arm and then let them go.’
‘You’re not going to kill them?’ Castus looked surprised.
‘Have no fear, Castus,’ replied Spartacus, ‘you'll soon have enough Romans to keep you busy. When we march we will strike east then north, along the east coast of Italy. We will have the Apennine Mountains between us and Rome, which will give us time.’
‘What garrisons are we likely to encounter?’ said Castus.
‘I do not know,’ replied Spartacus, ‘but town garrisons won’t be able to stop us. I’m more worried about the legions that will be sent after us. Some are probably marching south at this moment.’
‘I have had scouts out as far as Metapontum, lord,’ I said, ‘and they have seen no Romans.’
‘They’ll be coming from Rome, down the west-coast road,’ mused Spartacus, ‘the same road we used to get here. That’s why I want to go east. But keep your scouts out, Pacorus, we don’t want any nasty surprises.’
‘We’ve already had one nasty surprise,’ grumbled Akmon, ‘losing a quarter of the army.’
Spartacus rose from his chair. ‘There’s no point in worrying over what we cannot change. If Crixus and his men want to get themselves killed, so be it, and while the Romans are busy fighting him we might have a chance to hasten our escape out of this country.’
‘You would see him be destroyed?’ asked Godarz.
‘Why not? By leaving us he would see us destroyed. Let me tell you something, all of you. We can keep on defeating the Romans but they will keep on sending armies against us. If we are defeated once, we are destroyed. And as long as we are in Italy the Romans will dispatch legion after legion until we are exterminated. That is what Crixus does not realise, and that is why he will fail. If we leave Italy we have a chance of staying alive. Tell your men that, all of you.’
The meeting ended on a somewhat sombre note, but I have to confess that I was very happy to be rid of Crixus. What did it matter if there were no Gauls with the army? They were an undisciplined rabble fit only for butchering innocent people. No wonder the Romans had conquered them. Then I thought about Gallia. But obviously she was not like Crixus at all. Clearly not all Gauls were brutes, but even so I was glad to see the back of them. Godarz was somewhat downcast, though both Nergal and Burebista were their usual ebullient selves. I would show Spartacus and the army what properly trained cavalry could do, and would more than recompense him for the loss of a few thousand Gauls. As my mood soared I started to hum to myself, which drew perplexed stares from my fellow riders. That day, in the late afternoon following archery training, I walked with Gallia along a stream that ran through a wood filled with tall birch trees. We led our horses, Remus and Gallia’s chestnut mare that she had named Epona, after the Gallic goddess of horses.
‘You are pleased Crixus is le
aving us?’
‘Ecstatic.’
‘You dislike him, don’t you?’
‘I think it is more a case of him disliking me,’ I said.
‘He can be prickly.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘I think he’s lonely,’ she said reflectively.
‘Lonely?’ I was astounded. ‘We are talking about the same Crixus, I assume?’
‘He wants a good woman like Claudia.’
‘Or you,’ I said, mischievously. She slapped my arm.
‘Be serious. Because he is a fighter everyone expects him to be cruel and vicious, but he was always good to me in the ludus, and was the first to spring to my defence when I was struck.’
Anger grew within me at the thought of someone striking her. ‘I thought it was Spartacus who defended you.’
‘It was Spartacus who defended his wife and it was Crixus who stopped me from being hurt.’ She sighed. ‘It seems another life away.’
‘A better life now, I hope,’ I said, slipping my hand in hers.
She turned and smiled. ‘Yes. But you should not be too hard on Crixus. He was born with nothing and has had to fight all of his life. He was not born a prince like you.’
‘Or a princess like you,’ I retorted.
‘We have no say in the circumstances of our birth, Pacorus, only how we live our lives.’
Crixus and his Gauls left the army and we followed them ten days later. Everything that could not be carried was burned. Log shelters, sheds, cattle and pig pens, foundries, stable blocks, everything. The palisade that had been erected on the earth rampart to surround Thurri was also torched, along with the wooden buildings at the silver mine. The mine itself was allowed to flood, though we had little doubt that the Romans would get it working again as the seams were too rich to be allowed to lie undisturbed. The cattle and oxen would accompany the army on the march, the oxen to pull the heavy carts, the cattle to provide milk, then food, and finally leather. The pigs were slaughtered before the journey, the pork being salted down for rations for the march. The pathetic squeals of the pigs filled the air for days as they were herded together and slaughtered. Spartacus gave orders for everyone to gorge themselves on the abundant food supplies we had, for we could not take fruit or vegetables with us as they would decay very quickly, and once on the march food would be strictly rationed. We would take supplies wherever we found them, but it was better to start out well-fed and thus able to shed a few pounds if conditions got worse. Godarz hardly slept during this period, as it was his task to allocate rations to the various contingents. Working with a score of clerks, he ensured that each century had its allotted portions of grain, olive oil, bacon, lard, salt and cheese. Akmon’s camp was dismantled and its wooden palisade distributed among the Thracians and the tents loaded onto carts. We had no shortage of the latter, having defeated a Roman army and looted two cities and one town.
Our plan of campaign was simple enough: a march along the coast to Metapontum and then a journey to northern Italy along its eastern coast, keeping the Apennine Mountains, which ran through the centre of the whole country, between us and Rome and hopefully any Roman armies sent south against us. Having reached the north of the country, we would cross another chain of mountains, the Alps, and then head for our homelands. I had asked Spartacus if the Alps were high and he told me that they were, but that Hannibal had crossed them to bring his army into Italy over a hundred years before. ‘If he can do it, so can we.’ And so it was that on a warm spring day, the army began its march.
It took most of the morning for the army to form into the column of march we would use to travel through Italy. The first part of the army, which would be far ahead of the main body of troops, were Byrd’s scouts, who left their camp before dawn and rode far and wide to be our eyes and ears. Operating in groups of no more than half a dozen, they checked the roads, woodlands and hills for signs of the enemy and possible ambush sites. Next came two companies of horse archers as a covering force, which could either reinforce any scouts that encountered trouble, or fight off an enemy long enough for the army to be alerted and give it time to deploy in battle order. Two more companies of horse archers were also deployed as flank guards for the army’s baggage train that consisted of hundreds of wagons carrying everything we needed to exist as a fighting force; its tents, tools, spare weapons, food and other supplies. Behind the baggage train marched Spartacus, Claudia, Akmon, messengers and Godarz’s clerks. Godarz himself walked alongside Spartacus, and I think he liked his position of quartermaster general as it was a role of great importance, and after many years of being a slave the experience of being asked for his opinion as an equal was both novel and invigorating. Behind the general’s entourage came the foot soldiers, marching along at a leisurely pace six abreast, preceded by their trumpeters, standards and flags, with each national contingent followed by its own mules carrying personal baggage and tents. Then came my cavalry, those that were not undertaking scouting and flank duties. The men walked beside their horses, usually three abreast, with the carts carrying supplies for both men and horses. The cavalry’s supply train included two hundred mules that were loaded with spare arrows, for my father had always impressed upon me the necessity of having an abundant supply of ammunition. The rearguard, made up of two companies of horse archers, was the last part of the army, which stretched out for nearly ten miles and covered around twenty miles a day.
At first I rode with the covering force, but as the days passed and we encountered no resistance I marched alternately with Spartacus and my cavalry. Gallia’s unit of women I ordered to march with Spartacus, as it would be company for Claudia and if we were attacked she would be in the best-protected position. Each night the Thracians, Spaniards and Germans erected a huge Roman camp and locked themselves inside, but I deployed my cavalry in dozens of separate camps around these locations. I insisted that Gallia and her company stayed in the main camp each night with Spartacus and Claudia, and on occasion I would also eat with my general.
After nearly a month of marching we had passed through Lucania, Puglia, Samnium and were just entering the province of Picenum. As the spring was reaching its height the weather was getting hotter, and the feet of nearly forty thousand soldiers and an equal number of animals kicked up a fine dust that covered us all and got into our throats. Picenum was a wild place, with silent valleys, rugged mountain plains and a coastal plain that hugged the blue waters of the Adriatic. There were many herds of sheep in this region and consequently we gained many new recruits, hardy shepherds who brought their flocks and also their women, so soon the army had a sizeable contingent of females in the army. Claudia and Gallia were delighted, but Akmon did nothing but grumble about it.
‘They’ll be trouble,’ he said as we all walked along behind the baggage train on a warm day under a cloudless sky. ‘Women are always trouble.’
‘All of us?’ enquired Claudia.
Akmon was flustered. ‘Not you, lady, but women in an army spells trouble, they cause arguments and create bad blood. Next thing you know, the men are fighting each other instead of the enemy.’
‘Perhaps I should banish them,’ reflected Spartacus. He flashed a smile at Claudia. ‘Or kill them.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ snapped Claudia. ‘Men fight better when they are defending their loved ones, isn’t that right Pacorus.’
‘I suppose, lady,’ I said.
‘Of course it is,’ interrupted Gafarn, ‘Prince Pacorus would become a wild griffin if he thought that the Lady Gallia was in danger.’
‘What’s a griffin?’ sniffed Akmon, clearly annoyed that his sound military advice was being ignored.
‘A winged monster with an eagle’s head and a lion’s body,’ replied Gafarn. ‘Parthia is full of them.’
‘I’m sure no one wants to hear your views Gafarn,’ I said.
‘You’ll see them, lady,’ Gafarn remarked to Gallia, ‘when the prince takes you back to Hatra.’
&nbs
p; ‘Is that your plan, Pacorus,’ queried Claudia, ‘to take my friend to far-off Parthia?’
All eyes were on me. I could feel myself blushing and there was nothing I could do. Gallia looked innocent-eyed at me, while Akmon frowned, Spartacus laughed and Gafarn looked smug, while behind us Praxima and Diana giggled. I was about to give an answer when Byrd suddenly appeared in our midst, his horse lathered in sweat and him covered in dirt. He jumped off his horse and ran up to Spartacus, saluted him and then me.
‘Romani have destroyed the Gauls.’
We all stopped in our tracks and gathered round Byrd. Spartacus was laughing no longer. His face went ashen as Byrd informed him of what he had discovered. The Gauls had made their base on a large peninsula called the Gargano, an area in Apulia filled with vast forests of pine and surrounded on three sides by the sea. But a Roman army had engaged Crixus and his men and had destroyed them. Byrd’s scouts had not seen the battle but they had witnessed the aftermath, a hillside strewn with thousands of dead Gauls, with a forest of crosses on its summit where the Romans had crucified those they had captured. I saw Spartacus grip the handle of his sword and his knuckles go white as Byrd related how a few survivors had escaped and were making their way north to join us.
‘But few in number, lord. No Crixus among them.’
‘He may have escaped,’ said Claudia.
Spartacus shook his head. ‘He is dead. He would never abandon his men.’
‘He not one of the crucified,’ said Byrd.
‘At least he was spared that,’ muttered Akmon.
‘How far away are the Romans?’ asked Spartacus.
‘Forty miles, lord,’ replied Byrd.
‘They’ll be here in two or three days,’ I said.
‘Halt the army,’ ordered Spartacus to Akmon. ‘Council of war in one hour.’
As Nergal was riding ahead of the army with a company of horse archers, only Burebista accompanied me to the council, which was held at the base of a rounded hill covered in pine trees, with the high peaks of the Apennines in the distance. Around us, the army began the ponderous procedure of mapping out and then erecting a fortified camp. Spartacus’ mood was subdued, and I realised that although he and Crixus had had their differences, they had attended the same gladiatorial school and had shared a common bond. It was not friendship, more like a mutual respect and even admiration. Crixus had been one of the small band of men and women that had escaped from the ludus in Capua. Most of them were centurions in the Thracian contingent, some such as Eonemaus were dead, others like Castus had risen to positions of high authority, but all shared a bond of comradeship that I was not part of. To lose one of those companions was a hard blow, and I noticed that Claudia and Gallia were also distressed.
We sat on wooden stools – Spartacus, Akmon, Castus, Cannicus, Godarz, I and Burebista – all looking at Spartacus. He suddenly looked tired and drawn, perhaps unsurprisingly for the death of Crixus had been the first defeat for the army, albeit a detached part of it. And perhaps for too long we had lived under the delusion that Rome would not act against us. But now Rome had sent an army to hunt us down and that army had destroyed Crixus and his Gauls. Though no one said anything, all of us must have wondered if we were going to share the same fate.
‘We could continue with our march north,’ said Castus.
‘I have sent out more patrols, lord,’ I added, ‘to monitor the Romans’ movements more closely.’
Spartacus nodded. ‘We can’t risk having them on our tail. We don’t know what lies ahead, and knowing the Romans they will move fast to hunt us down.’
‘Do we know how many there are?’ asked Akmon.
‘Three legions at least,’ I replied, ‘though Byrd also reported a number of light troops. And they have about three hundred horse.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Spartacus, ‘we have to face them before they receive reinforcements. To wait longer will only make our task more difficult. We will camp here tonight. Tomorrow we will march south and fight them on a ground of our choosing.’
I said nothing to Spartacus about Crixus after the meeting had ended. I was sure that he wanted to grieve in his own way. But later that day, after I had eaten an evening meal with Gallia, a messenger arrived from Spartacus ordering me to attend him immediately. As the sun was casting long shadows across the plain where the army was located, I rode Remus over to see Spartacus. Predictably, the camp had been laid out in its usual fashion, and as I cantered down the central avenue I thought I was back at Vesuvius, with high peaks behind me and lush vegetation all around. When I entered Spartacus’ tent I found him pacing up and down, his large hands clasped behind his back. Claudia, looking pale, managed a thin smile when she saw me, while at the table sat a stern-looking Akmon. Then I saw Nergal, covered in dust and drinking from a cup. He bowed his head at me in salute.
‘Tell him,’ snapped Spartacus.
‘A Roman army, highness, approaching us from the north. Maybe two days’ march from here.’
‘Another army?’ I was shocked. ‘How many?’
Nergal took another swig of his drink. By the look of him he had been riding hard. ‘I counted three eagles, a few horse plus some light troops, archers, slingers.’
‘That’s another twenty thousand men, then,’ said Akmon. ‘We appear to be caught in a trap.’
I took the wine offered me by Claudia and sat in a chair by the table. My spirits sank as we waited for Castus to arrive. When he did and was told the news, he too sat dejectedly next to me, resting his chin in his right hand. There was silence for a while, then Spartacus thumped the table, making us all jump.
‘Fighting pairs, back to back, like in the arena. You remember, Castus?’
Castus looked up at Spartacus. ‘You protect my back, I protect yours.’
‘Exactly.’ Spartacus’ eyes were now alight with enthusiasm. ‘That’s the way to get us out of this mess.’
I looked at Nergal in confusion, who shrugged in puzzlement.
‘It’s quite simple,’ announced Spartacus. ‘We strike both enemy forces at the same time rather than face one and risk the other attacking our rear.’
‘You will split the army, lord?’ I said.
‘I have no choice, Pacorus. Hit both of them hard. They won’t expect that.’
‘And if they beat one half of the army,’ mused Akmon, ‘then we will be back to where we started and with only half the number of soldiers.’
‘Let us consider the possibility that we will not be defeated,’ retorted Spartacus. ‘Akmon, you and I will engage the Romans coming from the north, together with the Spaniards. Pacorus and Castus will march with their men against the Romans who fought Crixus.’
‘You will have no cavalry, lord.’ I said, ‘and the Romans advancing from the north have horse with them.’
Spartacus sat in his chair, poured himself a cup of wine and drained it. ‘You’re right, but seeing as you are the commander of the horse there seems little point in leaving some of your command with me. No one would know what to do with it.’
‘I could leave Nergal with you,’ I suggested.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘That will further weaken you. We don't know how many Romans are coming from the south, but I estimate that you and Castus will be outnumbered from the outset. I see little point in lengthening the odds. And take Gallia and her women with you. I want you concentrating on your own battle, not fretting about other things. Any questions?’
There were none.
‘Good. You will both leave at first light. Pacorus, you will command.’
Byrd and a dozen of his scouts were sent ahead as a yellow sun rose into an orange sky at dawn the next day, as nearly three thousand horsemen rode south. Despite his protestations, I insisted that three hundred horsemen remained behind with Spartacus to give his force at least a sprinkling of cavalry. They were all horse archers, and I said that at the very least he could dismount them and use them as archers should he so wish. Hopefully he would employ them
to harry and probe the Roman lines. I left them under the command of Godarz, whose advice Spartacus listened to and who as a Parthian would at least know how to use these men on the battlefield. Rhesus also stayed with them. I took Gallia and her company with me, stressing to Gafarn that he was to keep a close eye on them and keep them as a reserve. Behind the horse, marching six abreast along a dirt track and kicking up a large pall of dust, came the Germans, thousands of them dressed in mail shirts, big men with long hair, long beards, and carrying Roman shields and javelins. They had Roman swords in their scabbards and Roman helmets on their heads, but their long dark locks and bushy facial hair marked them out as enemies of Rome. I left Burebista in command of the main body of cavalry as I rode forward with Nergal to scout ahead.
We rode through rolling green hills, abundant vineyards and meadows filled with wild flowers. After two hours we ran into Byrd and his men coming from the opposite direction. He reported that the vanguard of the enemy’s army was five miles to the south. It was now mid-morning and the day was getting warm. We had ridden into undulating country, through the centre of which snaked a river. The river itself was wide and its banks steep, though the level of water was low following the passing of the spring melt waters from the winter snows that had covered the slopes of the mountains many miles to the west. I told Byrd to ride north and instruct Castus to march with haste to this spot, for here, beside a river that one of Byrd’s men had heard was called the Pisaurus, was where I would fight the Romans.
It took two hours for the Germans to arrive, and during that time I mapped out a battle plan in my head. A site that caught my eye was a level piece of ground between an outside bend of the river on my left and a large, gently rising hill on the right. The distance between the riverbank and the base of the hill was about a mile, perhaps more. While the men rested and sated their thirsts, watered their horses in the shallow river and ate a meagre meal of hard biscuit, myself, Nergal, Burebista, Castus and Cannicus gathered beneath one of the few trees that dotted the plain, an old chestnut with gnarled branches. I was conscious that I held command, but was careful not to assume a dictatorial tone.
‘I believe that this piece of ground offers us the best opportunity for defeating the Romans,’ I said.
‘I am a gladiator, not a general,’ observed Castus, ‘so it is your words that should hold sway, Pacorus.’
‘It is you and your Germans, my friend,’ I smiled at him, ‘who hold the key for us. But I fear the price in blood may be high.’
‘We do not fear spilling our blood,’ said Cannicus.
‘That is true,’ added Castus, ‘so tell us your plan.’
I gestured ahead with my arm. ‘Between that bend in the river, there, on the left, and the hill on the right, that is where we stand and fight. We anchor our left flank on the river and deploy in line between there and the base of the hill.’
‘It will be a thin line,’ said Castus. He was right. The normal formation for a legion in battle formation was ten cohorts arranged in three lines, four cohorts in the first line, and three in the second and third lines. But to fill most of the gap between the river and the hill his two legions would have to deploy in two lines.
‘On your right flank I will deploy five hundred horse,’ I continued, ‘with another two hundred on the other side of the river to protect against us being outflanked.’
‘Where will the other two thousand horse be, highness?’ asked Nergal.
‘Hidden behind the hill. I’m relying on the Romans attacking what they see directly ahead as they deploy in front of your men, Castus. They always attack.’
‘What if they don’t?’ asked Burebista.
‘Their pride and arrogance won’t allow them to fight a defensive battle, and remember that these are the legionaries that have destroyed Crixus. They will want to wipe out another group of slaves. That will work to our advantage.’ I prayed to Shamash that it would be so.
Two hours later the first Roman soldiers appeared, small red figures fanning out over the plain in the distance. My two thousand horse were already hidden behind the hill, but I ordered Burebista to take his five hundred horse further forward and deploy into a long line the other side of the hill, to dissuade any curious Roman scouts. Burebista’s men were mostly spearmen, for I wanted to keep our horse archers hidden until the trap was sprung. He wanted to charge at the Romans while they were deploying, for before very long the horizon was filled with legionaries, all advancing at a slow but steady pace, while on the wings were groups of horsemen. I told him to remain where he was, and to focus on preventing any Roman scouts from getting on the hill rather than meeting an early death at the hands of an enemy archer or slinger. There would be time enough for fighting.
It was now midday and still the Romans were deploying, while Castus had already drawn up his legions with his left flank anchored on the riverbank. The water may have been shallow, but at this particular bend the banks were steep where years of melt water surges had cut into the ground. I rode over to where he was overseeing the front rank of his men. His warriors were resting, their shields and helmets on the ground and nonchalantly talking to each other. I could see no apprehension in their faces. Why should there be? After all, many of these men had faced the Romans on the plateau last year and had won. Then again, so had Crixus’ men. I put that thought out of my mind.
‘Don’t attack, let them attack you,’ I said to Castus as I stood beside him looking at the Roman army, which was now being moved into battle position by officers on horses and centurions on foot. Cohorts were forming up into close order, with trumpets conveying instructions. The Roman cavalry was now grouping opposite our right flank as the Romans closed up on the riverbank. So far, so good.
‘Take care, Pacorus,’ said Castus, grinning at me. We embraced and he slapped me hard on the back.
‘You too, my friend,’ I replied, ‘and remember, you have to hold them.’
He spat on he ground and hoisted up his shield with his left hand. ‘We’ll hold.’
I mounted Remus and rode over to where Burebista was slowly withdrawing his horsemen to fill the gap between the Germans and the base of the hill. His five hundred men were spread thin in two lines.
‘Their horse will attack us soon enough, lord, and when they do they will cut through us. We are too few.’
‘They will not bother with you once they have pushed you back,’ I said. ‘They will try to wheel into the Germans’ right flank. Just pull back and stay alive and wait until I commit the rest of the horse.’
We shook hands and I rode back to where Nergal and two thousand cavalry were drawn up in two large blocks, each of ten companies standing side by side. Every company was three abreast and a hundred strong. Spear points glinted in the sun and quivers were weighed down with arrows. Gafarn was also present, his horse scraping at the ground with one of his front feet. I had sent Gallia, her women and another company of horse archers across the river, telling her that they were to cover the river and not let any enemy escape should they try to flee across the water. In reality I wanted to keep her out of harm’s way as much as circumstances would allow.
‘You are in charge of them, Gafarn,’ I said. ‘Just make sure they don’t launch a mad charge or another act of insanity.’
‘The Lady Gallia does not like to be told what to do.’
‘Then persuade her instead, or ask her kindly.’
‘Yes, highness,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘Keep safe, highness.’
‘You too, Gafarn.’ With that he was gone, galloping off behind the Germans and across the river. It was a relief that he was looking after Gallia. It was an odd turn of events that made me place so much trust in one who had once been my slave.
A strange silence descended over the battlefield as both sides dressed their lines before the initial clash. Then a crescendo of noise erupted from the Roman ranks as a host of trumpets signalled the advance. I walked Remus forward and up the slope of the hill. Within minutes I was at the top
and looking down at an impressive sight – four Roman legions advancing in immaculate order towards Castus’ Germans. Byrd must have missed one eagle, for he had told us that there were three. Sixteen cohorts made up their first line, with twelve following in the second, close to those cohorts in front. Following on behind, the gap almost twice as wide, was the third line of another twelve cohorts. The legionaries moved at a steady pace, a seemingly unstoppable tide of iron, steel and red-fronted shields heading towards our foot, which stood immobile. Keeping pace with the Roman front line, arrayed on their left wing, were two lines of horsemen. It was difficult to tell how many there were, but they slightly outnumbered Burebista’s men who were still deployed forward of the Germans and in front of the hill. There appeared to be around six hundred of them. As the Romans advanced Burebista and his horsemen suddenly wheeled about and trotted back a couple of hundred yards, then faced their front again. As long as he made himself a target for the Roman cavalry they would not be thinking about the hill, and more importantly what was behind it. The two lines were now less than a hundred yards apart and the Romans halted for the last time as Burebista once again pulled his men back, to draw level with the right flank of the Germans.
A movement in the sky caught my eye. It was an eagle, which was flying south. I thought it a good omen as the emblem of the Roman legions was the eagle, and I said a silent prayer to Shamash to keep Gallia safe and not let my courage fail me on this day. Another blast of trumpets signalled the Roman attack. The whole of their front line raced forward, the distance between the Romans and the Germans being no more than fifty yards. The legionaries screamed their war cry as they ran forward and hurled their pila at our ranks. The air was thick with flying steel as the first ranks of the Romans charged the Germans, but not before those in the ranks behind had also thrown their pila. But the Germans, standing like a wall behind their Roman shields, responded in kind, the rear ranks of the first line launching their pila at the attacking Romans. Then the two lines collided, the sound akin to a piece of iron being scraped on a rock. And above the clash of arms rose a steady, guttural roar as thousands of men fought with sword and shield in a blood-soaked drama. Behind the Roman legions was deployed a line of archers, who were pouring volley after volley of arrows over the heads of their comrades and into the ranks of the Germans. But as I glanced at the battle for the last time before riding down the hill to join my men, I saw that Castus’ men were standing firm, paying for the ground they defended with their lives.
I rode to the head of my horsemen and signalled the advance. Horns blew as I urged Remus forward, while to my left Nergal drew his sword and also led his men forward. Two thousand horse advanced at a trot as we moved out from behind the hill. Ahead I could see that the Roman cavalry had forced Burebista’s men back to back behind the German line, and though he and his men had not broken and were still fighting with sword and spear against the enemy, some of the Roman cavalry had already broken off their fight with his men and were wheeling right to assault the right flank of the Germans. I moved into a canter as we cleared the hill and moved through the gap between the Germans and the base of the hill. The left flank of Nergal’s column was already coming into contact with the Romans who were involved in a mêlée with Burebista’s men, and would soon be fighting for their lives as they were engulfed in a wave of my horsemen. I rode on through the gap and then wheeled left to take my men behind the Roman line.
After a short period I was charging along the rear of the Roman army, followed by hundreds of my horsemen. At first the enemy did nothing, in fact they barely acknowledged our presence; they must have assumed we were their own cavalry. They were soon disabused of this notion as the first arrows began striking them. The first to die were the archers, who were so busy shooting to their front that they only realised that the enemy was behind them when arrows began slamming into their backs. Some attempted to turn around and shoot at us, but our volume of arrows was such that they were cut down within minutes. Arrows were also pouring into the rear of the Roman third line of cohorts as we strung our bows, shot and then reached into our quivers for another arrow. I saw the Roman generals, a group of horsemen dressed in scarlet cloaks, red-crested helmets and surrounded by horsemen holding red standards. They were positioned immediately behind their third line, and they were suddenly being targeted by my archers. They wheeled about and several were frantically issuing orders, but their scarlet cloaks and steel cuirasses were no defence against our arrows, and soon almost all of them had been felled and were lying dead or injured on the ground, several crushed by their horses that had been pierced by arrows and had collapsed on the ground on top of them.
Now I was at the river, having ridden along the rear of the entire Roman army. My men were still shooting arrows at the Romans, who had now turned about and were desperately organising a defence. I could see that the ground was now littered with dead legionaries, men who had been killed by our arrows as they faced their front. This was their third line, which instead of waiting to reinforce the other two was now fighting for its life. Nergal rode up as my officers were reorganising their companies into lines, ready to assault the Romans.
‘Their horse has been scattered, highness.’
‘Casualties?’
‘Light, highness.’
‘And Burebista?’ I asked.
‘He lives,’ he smiled. ‘He is eating his way into the Romans’ flank.’
‘Good, we need to hit them hard with a wedge. Bring those armed with spear and shield forward. We will aim at the centre of their line and try to break them in two. Archers immediately behind them. Go.’
He saluted and rode away. I rode back along the Roman line, away from the river, to a position roughly in the middle of their line. I threw a light screen of archers forward and told their commander to maintain a steady rate of volleys along the whole of the line. I halted Remus as Nergal organised a wedge of horsemen behind me – three ranks of spear-armed horsemen who would hit the Romans like a giant arrow tip. Riding close behind them would be three ranks of horse archers, shooting over the heads of those in front. To weaken the spot where the charge would hit, I ordered other companies to deploy in columns two across and commence riding towards the Roman lines, the men discharging their bows and then wheeling left and right respectively, as those following on behind did the same, sending arrow after arrow into the Roman shields. The latter were wood covered with leather, but our arrows could pierce them and drive shafts of iron and bronze into arms and mail shirts. Not enough to kill, but enough to wound and shatter the morale of those who could only stand and be targets.
After ten minutes or so, Nergal signalled that the men were ready. I rode to the head of the wedge and he joined me.
‘You will charge, highness?’
‘Of course, I can’t expect men to obey me if I skulk behind them. Shamash keep you safe, Nergal.’ I drew my sword and dug my knees into Remus’ flanks. My bow was in its case and so I grabbed his reins in my left hand as he began to move, Nergal followed at a canter. The air was thick with arrows hissing towards the Roman line as I screamed the charge and Remus broke into a gallop. The Roman line was approaching me fast and I could see that it was ragged. We were perhaps six hundred horsemen in three ranks charging at the Romans, with another six hundred horse archers tucked in behind them, while on our flanks more archers were firing at the spot where we would hit the enemy line. That line was now dissolving as legionaries were felled by arrows, others limped wounded to the rear, while a few threw down their shields and tried to run. For their courage had deserted them as I aimed Remus towards a small gap that had appeared either side of a dead Roman lying on the ground. Remus galloped through the gap and I slashed at the head of a legionary on my right as he did so, then started to hack left and right at a sea of Roman helmets that surrounded me. But I was not alone, and soon those helmets were falling left and right as lances thrust through shields and mail shirts. Men were crushed under the hooves of horses as they atte
mpted to turn and flee, some were speared and others were killed by sword cuts. All semblance of order among the Roman ranks had now disappeared as hundreds of horsemen created a massive gap in their line, and then swept right and left behind them. What was left of what had been the Roman third line now dissolved into chaos. Some centurions, professional to the last, formed their centuries for all-round defence, but my archers merely halted their steeds out of pilum range and proceeded to shoot the shield blocks to pieces. The legionaries locked their shields over their heads and to the front, sides and rear, but there were still small gaps between shields held vertically and horizontally, and those gaps were an invitation to a skilled archer. Arrows hit eye sockets and necks, and soon those blocks were piles of dead and writhing legionaries, the centurions being sought-after targets, whose bodies were often hit by many arrows. Some Romans threw down their arms and tried to surrender, only to be killed on the spot. There was no mercy in the faces of my men on this day.
As the last of the third line was scattered and killed, I found a somewhat battered Nergal, his mail shirt torn and his helmet dented, and ordered him to form a new line.
‘We have to aid Castus and his men, therefore assemble as many men as you can into a line and advance them to behind the Roman line ahead.’
He brought his sword up to his face in salute and rode away. His horse, like Remus, was tired and so he walked it to a group of my officers, who slowly began to form a new battle line. Ahead the sounds of men killing each other filled the air, and I wondered how Castus and his men were faring. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually my men formed into a new line and walked their mounts towards the rear of what was the Roman second line. We halted and again we began to shoot at the rear ranks of the enemy. We had halted about two hundred feet from the Romans, who had no missile weapons with which to reply. But they did not even bother to about-face and form a shield wall. Then I saw why – the Germans were pushing them back and every legionary was needed to steady the line. But that line was crumbling, aided to some extent by our arrows which were felling enemy soldiers along the whole line. Then the Germans were through, just the odd century or two here and there, but then a cohort and then two, and suddenly in front of us were hundreds of fleeing Romans throwing down their shields and weapons in an effort to escape German swords. But in their blind panic they were running straight at us, and soon the earth was carpeted with dead and dying Romans as we shot arrow after arrow into individuals running towards us until our quivers were empty. It was like some macabre competition to see who could shoot as many enemy soldiers in the quickest time. My instincts took over, pulling arrows from my quiver, stringing them and loosing without thinking, always hitting a man and sending him spinning to the ground. This was murder, not war. My quiver was empty, so I drew my sword and began slashing at figures as they raced past me. Some Romans were running towards the riverbank, but they had to run a gauntlet of archers to reach the relative safety of the river a few hundred yards away, and hundreds were cut down before they saw any water.
I do not know how much time had elapsed, but I looked above me and saw that the sun was high in the sky. It must have been mid-afternoon now. The Roman army was no more. It had become a fleeing mob of terrified individuals, who were slowly and methodically being butchered by my horsemen and Castus’ Germans. My officers kept their men under a tight leash, moving them about the battlefield in companies to reduce any remaining pockets of Roman resistance, which in truth were few. In front of me, German centuries were being marshalled by exhausted centurions into a new battle line. But there was no need, there was no Roman army left to fight. I walked a tired Remus towards the German lines and saw Castus striding towards me. I dismounted and we embraced. There was blood all over him. He saw my look of concern.
‘Not mine, my friend. Are you hurt?’
I looked at my dust-covered tunic. ‘Not a scratch.’
‘You did it Pacorus,’
‘We did it,’ I said.
I suddenly realised that the air was no longer filled with screams and curses and that a hush had descended on this field of slaughter. Men were suddenly collapsing on the ground as their reserves of frenzy and energy evaporated. I myself was suddenly gripped by a raging thirst, so I unhooked my water skin from Remus’ saddle and drank with gusto. I passed it to a thankful Castus and then poured the remainder into Remus’ mouth. He had a small gash on his right thigh but was otherwise unharmed.
As I stood with Castus among the dead and the dying, I saw to my right a slumped rider in the saddle of a grey horse that was riding towards the river. The man, a Roman officer by the look of his cloak and cuirass, was clearly wounded. Helmetless, his light hair seemed familiar, but perhaps my battle-drunk mind was playing tricks on me. Then I realised who it was. He was only a couple of hundred feet away, an easy target. I ran to Remus and pulled my bow from its case. Lucius Furius was about to die at my hand, finally. I reached into to my quiver. Empty! I turned and screamed at anyone who was listening.
‘Stop that rider!’ pointing frantically as Furius’ horse slowed to a walk and then stopped. I was running towards it, gesturing to all and sundry that they should converge on the now stationary horse. I saw Nergal riding in my direction, followed by a score of his men, while behind me a panting Castus was trying to keep up as Lucius Furius dropped from his saddle onto the ground. I knelt beside him and felt at his neck for a pulse. He was still alive. Castus stood beside me, breathing heavily.
‘Is he dead?’
‘No,’ I said, seeing that he had been wounded in the side of his belly, ‘he lives.’
Nergal then appeared with his men.
‘Keep him under guard. Get someone to look at his wound and stitch him up if necessary. And see to it that he isn’t harmed. If anyone is to kill him, it will be me.’
‘Yes, highness.’
Castus looked perplexed. ‘You know this man?’
I smiled. ‘Indeed, he is an old friend.’
I walked back to Remus and rode him to the river. I sat gawping at the scene below me. Dozens of dead Roman soldiers were heaped at the foot of the riverbank and other bodies lay in the gently flowing river. On the opposite bank stood Gallia and her women, plus the company that I had sent to protect them. Behind the archers stood groups of horses being held by other soldiers. I recognised Gallia by her blonde hair showing beneath her helmet, standing proud with her bow. I waved at her and then rode downstream a few hundred feet to where the riverbank was not steep and crossed the river. Patrols of horsemen were also scouring each side of the river, looking for any legionaries that may have escaped. They saluted me as I encountered one patrol on the opposite side of the river, half a dozen riders led by a Dacian carrying a lance and shield, like his men.
‘Have you found any?’
‘One or two, sir. We speared them so they won’t be giving us any more trouble. But some will have escaped and made it back to their camp. Do you want us to stay with you, sir, in case any of the bastards are lurking about?’
‘No, carry on with your sweep.’ They saluted and continued on their way east. I carried on upstream until I met Gafarn. I shook his hand.
‘I see that my orders were disobeyed again,’ I grinned.
‘Yes, highness. The Lady Gallia thought it cowardly to stand idly by while you were fighting for your life.’
‘I see, and you didn’t think to order her to stay out of the fight?’
He thought for a moment. ‘A hundred heavily armed women are not to be trifled with lightly, highness.’
‘And the other hundred men who were with you?’
‘They thought the same as I, highness.’
‘I’m glad to see that you are unharmed, Gafarn.’
‘You too, highness.’
I held Gallia in my arms for a long time as around us men and women cheered.
‘You have won a great victory,’ she whispered in my ear, which caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I wanted to h
ear more of her hero-worship of me. ‘Remus is hurt.’ She broke away from me and ran over to my horse, stroking his neck and telling him he was a beautiful boy. So much for me!
It turned out that Remus’ wound was nothing more than a scratch, and once Gallia and Diana had seen this for themselves, everyone mounted up and we rode back downstream and across the river. I rode beside Gallia as we left the spot on the riverbank from where they had been shooting.
‘Fine shooting,’ I remarked.
‘We nearly turned tail and ran when all these Romans started scrambling down the riverbank, until Gafarn pointed out that most had discarded their weapons and shields. Then we realised that they were fleeing, and all those hours spent on the training field were put to good use.’
‘So it seems.’
‘Afterwards, Praxima wanted to jump in the river and slit the throats of any survivors.’
I turned to see Nergal’s woman riding behind us, her hair wild and her face lit up with excitement. A shudder went down my spine. ‘I can imagine.’
It was early evening now but it was still light and warm, and so I moved the army two miles to the west, out of sight of the death and carnage of the battlefield and upstream where we could water the horses and refresh ourselves. We would burn the dead in the morning. We rode in silence, for men who have survived the cauldron of combat have much to reflect on – why they survived when others died, would death take them in the next battle and would they meet death with honour or, like they had witnessed today, with terror in their eyes and their bowels emptying without control? I sent Byrd and two of his riders north to take a message to Spartacus that we had defeated the Romans. I prayed to Shamash that he lived and that Byrd would not stumble upon a field of slaughter like the one we had just left, with a dead Spartacus staring with glazed eyes into the sky, or Claudia, or Godarz. I stopped myself entertaining such thoughts.
We pitched camp and ate our evening meal. Few fires were lit and the mood of the men was subdued. A veterinary attended to Remus and then I groomed and fed him. I instructed Nergal to post guards and relieve them every hour, though I doubted that there were any Romans within ten miles of us. Gallia came with Epona and I wrapped both of us in my cloak as we sat on the ground with our knees drawn up to our chins. It was dark now and the sky was cloudless, a myriad of stars flickering above us. There may have been nearly thirteen thousand soldiers and their animals camped all around us, but there was little sound and we could have been all alone in the world.
‘They will keep coming back, you know.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘The Romans. They will send another army, then another, until we are no more.’
‘I know,’ I looked at her, her perfect nose and high cheekbones highlighted in the moonlight. ‘You know that I want us to be together, so come with me to Hatra and we can live our lives in peace.’
She turned to look at me. ‘And what of Diana, and Praxima and the rest. I cannot abandon them.’
‘They all have a place in my father’s kingdom, if they so choose.’
She sighed. ‘Do you think your mother and father will approve of me?’
I laughed. ‘They will think that you are adorable, and they will love you, just as I do.’
She rested her head on my shoulder. ‘Oh Pacorus, for a warrior you are such a dreamer.’
‘All will be well, I promise. We will leave this accursed land and then head east back to Parthia. There we will be safe.’
‘Can we ever be safe?’ Tonight Gallia had a heavy heart, a consequence, no doubt, of the slaughter she had witnessed this day.
‘Of course, the Parthian Empire is not some collection of stone huts. It is over a thousand miles across and stands unassailable like a rock in the face of its enemies. Do not think any more, rest my love.’
I held her close as she drifted off to sleep, and I stared at the night sky and prayed that my parents were safe and that I would see them again. And I prayed that I would also see my friend and lord, Spartacus, once more.
