The Parthian (21 page)

‘Who was she?’ I asked, not sure if he was making it all up.

‘Who, Gallia? See for yourself, she’s over there.’

I looked to where Castus was peering and saw a vision of beauty that made everyone and everything else disappear. I’ve often thought of the first moment I saw Gallia and have often wondered if all men experience the same emotions when they cast their eyes on ‘the one’. She was wearing a simple blue stola, with a black belt around her waist. She embraced Claudia and then Spartacus, laughing and obviously at ease with her friends. Her long, thick blonde hair cascaded down over her breasts and framed her flawless, oval face with its high cheekbones and narrow nose. She was beautiful, yes, but aside from the perfect features nature had gifted her she also gave the impression of strength and pride. She was tall, around six foot, and her dress highlighted the contours of her lithe body. She held herself erect and strong, undaunted by the coarse gathering of gladiators around her. I noticed that she glanced at the now roaringly drunk Crixus and frowned. Claudia whispered something in her ear and she cast me a quick glance. My heart leapt but she quickly returned to conversing with her two friends. I noticed she wore no jewelry; she didn’t have to. No amount of gold could improve upon her natural beauty. Perhaps I had had too much wine, but this woman called Gallia had burst into my world like a flaming comet crashing to earth from the heavens. I wanted to know more about her, at the very least talk to her, but she never looked at me again that evening. I yearned to be near her, but she sat next to Claudia and Spartacus and ignored me. Later another woman, with brown hair and a kind if unremarkable face, sat next to Gallia. It was apparent that the two were friends, and Castus informed me that her name was Diana and that she had been a kitchen slave at the ludus.

The days after the feast were filled with the task of creating a force of cavalry from nothing. Spartacus gave me the thirty horses he had promised, which had been captured from the Roman force he had destroyed on the slopes of Vesuvius. They were adequate beasts, but did not compare to the specially bred Arabians of Hatra, which were noted for their depth of chest, masculine power and size. They were also intelligent, especially my Sura, on whom I had fought my first battle. The most common colours in Hatra were grey and chestnut, though the royal stables of my father had always specialised in breeding pure whites. His whites were famed throughout the Parthian Empire, and were highly sought after. This being the case, Hatra attracted its fair share of horse thieves; if caught, which they invariably were, they were usually impaled on stakes outside the gates of the city as a warning to others.

The horses we now rode on were certainly not Arabians, yet they were hardy enough and were responsive to our commands, being military horses. The Roman saddles we rode on were similar to Parthian ones, being built around a wooden frame with four horns reinforced with bronze plates at each corner to hold the rider in place, the front horns supporting the inner thigh and the two back horns supporting the hips. The whole saddle was padded and covered in leather. I led the party of horsemen that included Nergal and Gafarn. We rode to the valley where Spartacus had showed me the herd of wild horses. They were still there when we arrived, around fifty of them, maybe more. We tethered our own horses in trees out of sight of the herd and then approached them on foot. Taming wild horses requires time and patience, but first they have to be captured. We Parthians were horse masters and we knew all the tricks. First of all, each of us peeled off the top layer of the chestnuts from our own horses and rubbed them on our hands. The chestnuts were the small, horny calluses on the inner surface of a horse’s leg, and they gave our hands the reassuring smell of a fellow horse. We all had ropes as we gently approached a wild horse, making sure we were all upwind of our targets.

The air was warm as I slowly approached a grey stallion, which turned to look at me when I was five or so paces from him, approaching from his right side. I stopped, being careful not to look directly into his eyes, which was the action of a predator. I spoke to him quietly as I inched my way sideways towards him, thereby presenting no threat. He turned away and resumed his chewing at the grass. I stopped and watched him for a few minutes. There was no rush; it could take us all day, but our patience would be rewarded. I inched closer until I was near enough to touch him. I stopped again and did nothing for several minutes, looking away from him but talking in a quiet voice, reassuring him that I was his friend and would not hurt him. He could not understand, of course, but he would understand the calm tone of my voice. I extended my hand with my fingers closed — spread fingers would give the impression that I was a wild animal — and gently touched his neck. He drew back so I withdrew my hand. It was some minutes more before he resumed his grazing, and once more I extended my hand and gently touched his neck. This time he did not draw back, so I continued to stroke his neck, talking to him soothingly and calmly.

I do not know how long I stood there talking to this stallion, perhaps an hour, but at the end I was able to put the rope halter over his head and lead him away towards where my own horse was tethered in the shade. By late afternoon we had tamed many horses and were leading them back to camp. Being a herd, once the head stallion had been tamed, by Nergal, which flushed him with pride, all the other horses were soon haltered. While we were away the rest of my men were building wooden pens to hold our new charges. The sun was on our backs and sinking into the west as we trotted back into camp with our four-legged captives. They were then led to the pens and safely secured, after which they were fed and watered. A count revealed that we had captured fifty-five horses. We went out again the next day to bring in the rest, which numbered another forty.

The following days were spent taming our new mounts. Spartacus visited us to observe our progress. He seemed pleased by what he saw. Each horse had been allotted to one of my men, who would be its sole master when it was fully tamed.

‘How long will it take?’

‘Two or three weeks, maybe a month,’ I replied.

‘That long?’ he seemed surprised.

‘It takes time, lord.’ He obviously knew very little about horses, so I decided to educate him. ‘The first step with a wild horse is to establish trust. You have to gain his trust before you can do anything with him. You cannot work with any horse if that horse does not trust you. You have to visit him every day. You feed him, water him and talk to him in a mild, reassuring manner. Eventually, the horse will start to trust you, and will know that you are not there to hurt him. Once this happens, you can go inside the pen and give him a massage or body rub. This helps strengthen the bond that you are now starting to build with the horse. When you are confident that the horse no longer sees you as a threat, you can start showing him objects that he will be using in the future. The rope and the halter must be the first items you should introduce to him. Let him smell it, rub it against his back and neck, so he will get used to it. Let him wear the halter for a few hours every day, but take it off when you leave. And when you have acquainted the horse with objects around him like fences, ropes, the halter, the saddle, and everything else, he becomes more trusting. He looks to you as a leader. This makes training be easier. Horses are intelligent creatures, lord, and it takes time to earn their trust.’

‘When will you have your men ready?’

‘One month, lord. But I will need more horses and more recruits. I have only two hundred men. You will need more cavalry than that.’

He stared into the distance, saying nothing for a while. ‘Nola.’

‘Lord?’

He turned to face me. ‘We will attack Nola, a town about thirty miles away. That should provide us with more weapons and supplies, and horses for your cavalry.’

‘Does it have walls, lord?’

‘Yes, strong stone walls with a ditch in front of them.’

‘Have you any siege engines? I asked, somewhat surprised that he was thinking of assaulting a walled town.

‘None.’

‘Then how are you going to take it?’

He looked at me and smiled wolfishly. ‘You are you going to take it, Pacorus, you and your cavalry. Come to a council of war in two hours and I will explain.’

With that he marched away, leaving me more than a little bewildered.

I took Nergal with me to the council. As my newly appointed second-in-command it was only proper that he should be privy to the decisions that would affect us. He was delighted with his new rank and though he was a year older than me, he was like a child with a new toy. He was taller than me and slightly lanky, with long arms and even longer legs. He looked awkward when he was walking, being all limbs, but in the saddle he was a superb horseman, far better than I. Parthians loved their horses, but Nergal, I think, loved them the most and they loved him. When he was riding he and horse seemed to become one, man and beast fused together. He perhaps wasn’t the brightest person in the world, but he was loyal and had an infectious spirit.

The council meeting was held in a large leather tent that was supported by two centre poles that held up the roof and numerous ropes that gave tension to the walls. The flaps at each end were open to allow air inside, for it had been a hot day. We went inside and I saw that stools had been placed around a large oblong table in the middle. Wine and water jugs had been placed on tables either side of the entrance. I filled a cup with water and handed it to Nergal, then filled another for myself. Spartacus was already seated and called for us all to take our places. I recognised Crixus, who ignored me, and Castus who nodded as he sat beside another dark-haired warrior who was dressed in a similar fashion to him. Crixus finished his cup (no doubt wine) and shoved his companion beside him off his stool and ordered him to fetch a jug. Spartacus frowned and stood up.

‘I have decided we are going to attack and capture Nola. We cannot remain idle forever, and the longer we are passive the more the likelihood that the Romans will attack us again. Besides, we are eating up all our supplies and emptying the countryside of food. We need fresh supplies.’

‘Nola has walls,’ said Castus.

‘There are plenty of rich villas further afield,’ growled Crixus. ‘Why waste time battering our heads against walls we can’t take.’

‘We are not going to batter the walls, Crixus,’ replied Spartacus, ‘we are going to walk up to the gates and they will let us in.’

Crixus burst into laughter. ‘You’ve been in the sun too long. Have some water and lie down for a while.’

Spartacus waited a few minutes until Crixus had finished making his noise. He fixed the Gaul with an iron stare until the silence was oppressive. Castus said nothing. Nergal, who had never seen Spartacus up close, looked upon the Thracian with awe. Spartacus certainly had an imposing presence. Crixus snorted in disgust and played with a giant two-bladed axe that he had rested on the ground beside him. His new toy.

‘As I said,’ continued Spartacus, ‘we are going to take Nola. Pacorus and some of his men will ride up to one of the gates dressed in Roman cavalry uniforms,’ he nodded at me. ‘Once he is inside his men will seize the gatehouse and keep the gates open long enough for a following force of foot to get inside. Simple and effective.’

I looked at Nergal, who was shaking his head enthusiastically. Spartacus had obviously won him over. I have to confess that his plan struck a balance between audacity and foolishness. It might just work. Crixus glared at me.

‘We don’t know if he,’ he jabbed a finger in my direction, ‘and his bunch of riders can fight, let alone take a town. What if messes up? The men following him will be caught in the open. I don’t trust him.’

I rose from my stool, but Spartacus waved his hand for me to remain seated. ‘I can understand your reticence, Crixus. I will therefore ride with Pacorus and his men, to make sure nothing goes awry. You will stay here with your men. Castus and his Germans will support us.’

Castus smiled, but Crixus jumped up. ‘Me and my Gauls should be the ones to burn Nola.’ Crixus’ companion nodded his agreement, though I noticed he stayed seated. Nergal looked at them both with narrowed eyes. Clearly he had formed the same impression of Crixus as I had.

Spartacus walked towards Crixus until their faces were inches apart. ‘We’re not going to burn Nola, that’s why your Gauls will stay here. We’re going to empty it of anything useful. Besides,’ he grinned at Crixus, ‘if I’m killed, you will then be the leader of the army.’

I could see that Crixus was weighing up the options in his over-sized head and he clearly liked to idea of being a general, for he sat back down and grunted. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re killed I will burn Nola in any case.’

Spartacus smiled. ‘I’ve no doubt. We leave tomorrow. Castus, you and your Germans will be the foot. You will march tonight along the road that leads to Nola’s western entrance and stay hidden tomorrow. We will link up with you a few miles from Nola, and then you and your men will follow us. As soon as you get within sight of the town, you will attack through the open gates.’

‘And if the gates are not open?’ asked Castus.

‘Then head back to Vesuvius and put yourself under the command of Crixus.’

Afterwards Crixus stomped off to his section of the camp, while I talked with Castus and his lieutenant, whose name was Cannicus.

‘How many men do you have?’ I asked.

‘Around two thousand. More are coming in every day, but the majority are Gauls and they are swelling Crixus’ ranks. He was bragging that he has four thousand men. If Spartacus falls I will be leading my people out of here. I won’t serve under Crixus. Think the plan will work?’

‘It might,’ I said, ‘it just might.’

We clasped each other’s forearms. ‘Until tomorrow, then,’ he said.

‘Until tomorrow,’ I was starting to like Castus. He wasn’t a boaster and I believed he had a cool head on his shoulders.

That night Castus led his men out of the camp, hundreds of black-haired Germans marching in column and carrying shields, spears, swords and axes. Mail shirts were few, with most dressed in threadbare tunics and nothing on their feet. Those in the rear ranks carried only wooden shafts whose ends had been sharpened to a point and then held in a fire to harden the end. Spartacus was right — we needed more weapons and equipment. Spartacus had the Roman cavalry weapons and armour delivered to our camp that afternoon: mail shirts, red cloaks, open-faced helmets decorated with bronze, and oval wooden shields, each one covered with hide and having a central steel boss with a wooden grip behind it. The swords were similar to the one Spartacus had given me, though their quality was not as good, a fact commented on sarcastically by Gafarn. Finally, we would each carry an eight-foot-long lance as thick as a man’s wrist tipped with a steel head.