The Parthian (23 page)

Castus was right. Spartacus returned to us with his head down. He sat down on the steps.

‘A grand total of twenty. Well, the others will be joining their masters on the road.’ He jerked a finger at the few volunteers who were being separated from the rest, while the great mass of people was being moved from the forum down one of the town’s main streets.  

‘One of them belongs to your people, Pacorus, said he could ride.’

My ears pricked up at this, and without saying a word I walked briskly over to the group of freed slaves. Around me wailing women and weeping children were being forcibly removed from the forum. Their menfolk had started to protest, but a few cracked skulls courtesy of German spear shafts disabused them of the notion that they had any say in the matter. One middle-aged man in a richly decorated toga refused to move, standing rock-like at the front of the crowd. All eyes were upon him as a burly, hairy German strolled over to him and pointed at the road along which his kinsmen were trudging. He did not move, but glared at the German with ill-disguised disgust then spat on him. I blinked in disbelief as the German grasped his spear with both hands, thrust it clean through the man, and then lifted him off the ground with his muscled arms. The Roman writhed like a stuck pig for a few seconds, and then expired. The corpse was thrown to the ground and the German withdrew his bloody spear, then stood and smiled at any Roman that caught his eye. There were no more protests after that.

I stood in front of the slightly nervous freed slaves.

‘Which one of you is a Parthian?’ I asked in my mother tongue.

A tall, lean man in his late forties stepped forward. He had short-cropped hair, olive skin and brown eyes. He was dressed in a light grey tunic with a brown leather belt at his waist and good-quality leather sandals on his feet. He looked strong and well fed; perhaps Castus was right about city slaves. He stood in front of me, eyeing me as much as I was studying him.

‘I knew you were Parthians the moment I clasped eyes on you. The long hair, the way you sat in the saddle. Though my Parthian is a little rusty after so long a guest of the Romans’ He extended his hand. ‘My name is Godarz and many years ago I was once in the Silvan army under Prince Vistaspa, though doubtless he is dead and his name means nothing to you.’

I felt a surge of emotion course through my body. To hear another talk of someone I knew from my homeland made my heart soar. I grabbed him with both arms and embraced him warmly, which surprised him somewhat.

‘I am Pacorus, son of King Varaz of Hatra and the man you speak of is my father’s friend and the commander of his bodyguard. He not only lives, but thrives and is reckoned one the finest warriors in the Parthian Empire.’

There were tears in his eyes as I explained to him how fate had brought me to Italy to fight by the side of Spartacus, and how I hoped to get back to Hatra. One day. He laughed.

‘We all have that hope, highness, but for most of us it remains only a distant dream.’

I pulled him aside. ‘You don’t have to call me highness, Godarz.’ I nodded towards the figure of Spartacus sat on the temple steps. ‘He doesn’t approve of titles.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ he replied. ‘So that’s Spartacus, is it? Well, he looks fearsome enough.’

‘And he has a brain, too,’ I said. ‘It was his plan that captured this town.’

Godarz contemplated for a moment. ‘Then the Romans have a problem, for they have difficulties conceiving of a slave who can think for himself. I knew he must have some ability when the town wasn’t burnt.’

It took three hours before the citizens and their slaves were ejected from Nola, a long, sad line of humanity making their way out of the east gates towards? I knew not.

‘Who cares?’ remarked Castus as we stood on the wall watching them go. 

I must admit I felt pangs of guilt about the plight of the women and children, some of whom might perish if their journey was long and arduous. That night we shut the gates, posted guards on the walls and made ourselves at home in Nola’s finest houses. We Parthians slept at the house that had been the property of Godarz’s master, a beautiful abode in the wealthy northern area of the town. The house was built around an inner courtyard that was open to the sky, with more rooms at the back arranged around a garden that was surrounded by a covered walkway. The garden itself was well tended (no doubt by slaves) where herbs and fruit trees were growing, plus flowers and shrubs. The rooms of the house had pictures painted on the walls that depicted mythical beasts that had the bodies of lions and wings. In some rooms there were scenes of horses, and Godarz informed me that his master had bred horses for a hobby.

‘That’s how I came to be here. In truth he was good to me,’ said Godarz, eating a grape as we relaxed on plush couches in the dining room. ‘And he loved his horses. I’ll show you them tomorrow, the stables back onto the house.’

That was the first time in weeks that I slept in a bed, and when I awoke the next morning I thought at first that I was back in Hatra. But the grunts and shouts of Germans brought me back to reality. I dressed and joined my men in the kitchen, where twenty Parthians were eagerly feasting on porridge, bread, cheese and fruit. Godarz had risen early in preparation for our departure.

‘I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping on the ground from now on,’ I said, breaking off a piece of cheese.

‘At least I will be free,’ he replied, cheerfully.

We had tethered our horses in the courtyard for the night, and they had used the opportunity to eat many of the flowers and plants. Godarz asked me to follow him into the street, which was filled with dirty looking Germans driving heavily laden carts towards the forum. The two- and four-wheeled carts were piled high with anything that might be of use to us: cooking utensils, garden tools, kitchen implements, anything and everything. The carts were pulled by pairs of mules, some of which were proving reluctant to obey their new masters. Ill-tempered Germans beat the beasts and cursed them as Godarz led me to the rear of his master’s walled house and into another walled area, through high iron gates and across a wide courtyard. On the other side was a large white-walled stable block with red roof tiles. I followed him into the stables and was amazed at their luxurious layout. They would not have been out of place in Hatra’s royal stables. Each of the stables had half-doors leading onto the central alley and grills between stalls to allow horses the feeling of space. And inside every stall was a hayrack and water tub. The stables were clean and airy and had a wonderful smell of horseflesh that reminded me of home.

‘You tend these stables on your own?’ I asked him.

‘No, highness,’ he turned away from me. ‘You can come out now.’

From the far end of the block five figures emerged, all dressed like Godarz, though all were younger than he, men in their late teens or early twenties.

‘They have been hiding here. They were fearful of the Germans and expected to be captured, but your arrival saved them. ‘ He cast me a glance. ‘At least for the time being.’

‘It’s quite safe,’ I shouted at them. ‘You will not be harmed.’

They shuffled towards us with heads bowed.

‘Thank you, highness,’ said Godarz. ‘Let me show you the horses.’

The horses were immaculate and were a credit to their carers. The last stall held a beast of rare beauty, a white stallion with blue eyes. I stared in wonder at him, admiring his muscular shoulders, thick neck and erect head. He stood proud and looked directly into my eyes.

‘He’s of Carthaginian stock. My master called him Remus,’ said Godarz.

‘An odd name,’ I replied.

‘Remus was one of the twins who founded Rome many centuries ago, or so I was told. He should be yours, highness, for he has a haughty and stubborn nature and he requires a true horse lord to tame him.’

I extended my hand slowly to Remus and stroked the side of his head. He seemed to like it.

‘We must leave this place,’ I said. ‘You told Spartacus that you would join him?’

‘Yes, highness.’

‘What about these other men?’ I asked Godarz.

‘I speak for them also.’

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We will take these horses with us. We leave at once.’

I looked at Remus. ‘And you, my fine friend, will be my horse from now on.’

Godarz and the stable hands rode behind us, leading the spare horses as we made our way back to the forum, which was now choked with wagons and carts of every description, each waiting to join the main road west out of Nola. I saw a flustered Castus standing with Cannicus at the head of a logjam of vehicles, all trying to get onto the road. I rode over to him. Before we left the rich house we had plundered it of anything of value. I had found a silk vest and an expensive white tunic edge with red and gold. I took both items and put them on, plus a pair of riding boots and a white cloak. I got rid of the red plume on my helmet and replaced it with a long white plume of goose feathers. I was a Parthian not a Roman, and wanted to look like one. I also took time to comb my hair and shave, instructing my men to do likewise.

Castus looked up at me. ‘Nice horse.’

‘How long have the wagons been leaving?’ I asked.

‘Since dawn. At last count we had nearly four hundred piled high. The town armoury yielded a thousand spears and shields, plus a couple of hundred mail shirts.’

I looked at the German warriors on the carts and others standing guard around the forum. They seemed as ill dressed and armed as yesterday.

‘Have you re-equipped others of your men?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Everything goes back to Vesuvius, to be distributed according to need. Spartacus is insistent on that.’

‘Where is he?’

‘At the amphitheatre. Cannicus will show you the way.’

Cannicus was glad to be away from the melee in the forum, and led my men and myself into the western suburbs of Nola, to a large wooden stadium. We dismounted and I ordered my men to remain outside as Cannicus led me through one of the open gates. Inside was an elongated, sand-covered space surrounded on all four sides by wooden stands filled with benches. There was no protection from the elements, aside from the stand at the far end which did have a roof supported by wooden pillars, under which were placed elaborate chairs. Spartacus sat on the edge of the covered stand, his legs dangling over the side of the high wooden sides that enclosed the arena. I thanked Cannicus and made my way to him along the rows of benches. He didn’t look up as I sat beside him. He was silent for a long time, looking at the sand surface below.

‘I fought here a few times,’ he said at last. ‘It was always full and always hot. They kill the criminals first, in the morning, and then they like to have animal fights. By the time the gladiators fight each other it was the afternoon and the place stank of blood, piss, vomit and shit. The used to cover the blood with more sand but the stink always got in my nostrils. That’s the thing I remember most, not the killing, or the shouts of the crowd, but the disgusting smell. No matter how grand or ragged the arena, the smell was always the same.’

He stood up and looked skywards. ‘I had thought of burning Nola, but seeing as it’s been most generous to our cause I think I will be merciful. Do you think I should have killed the inhabitants?’

I was shocked. ‘Lord?’

‘The Romans respect strength. They see mercy as weakness.’ He looked at me, his eyes wild. ‘But most of all they like blood, lots of blood. Why else would they watch men butcher each other for sport? I promise to give them what they desire most.’

‘It was right to let the inhabitants leave, lord.’

He shrugged and walked away. ‘We leave today. Time to get back to Vesuvius. This will have stung the Romans into action, and they will be sending another army to wipe us out soon enough.’

It was late afternoon before I and my men left the town, walking our mounts along the western road out of Nola. Ahead was a long line of carts as far as the eye could see, intermingled with Castus’ warriors. We too had commandeered some carts, which we had filed with all the equipment from the stables that Godarz had tended, plus others we had plundered. He was happy to be with us, and even happier when I mounted Remus and asked him to attend me as I went to find Spartacus, leaving my men to guard the wagons. We found him two miles ahead, sitting on his horse atop the crest of a hill that overlooked the plain in which Nola sat. He saw us and nodded, then peered past us. I turned and saw a large plume of black smoke rising from the town into the cloudless sky.

‘You are burning the town, lord?’ I asked.

‘Just the amphitheatre, together with the garrison.’

‘Lord?’

‘I had them taken there, chained to the benches, covered in pitch and set alight.’ He looked directly into my eyes. ‘There are limits to my mercy, Pacorus.’

He then looked at Remus and for a moment I thought that I saw a look of alarm in his eyes.

‘A man from the east riding a white horse.’

‘Lord?’

‘Nothing,’ he snapped. ‘One more thing. We share everything that is taken from the Romans. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you did not know of my policy, but see to it that it doesn’t happen again.’

It took the rest of the day and most of the next to get the booty back to Vesuvius. There was excitement in the by now very large camp when we returned. My Parthians were pleased to see that the cavalry had returned with no losses, and were delighted to welcome Godarz among us. Though he had been a prisoner of the Romans for many years, his presence was a reminder of home and his easy manner meant he fitted in straight away. We now had enough horses to mount all my Parthians, though parties were sent out each day to collect more wild horses and any more we could ‘liberate’ from the Romans. The news of the capture of Nola must have spread far and wide, for every day more recruits arrived to swell the army. Field hands and shepherds for the most part, with a smattering of better-dressed town slaves who fancied themselves as warriors, but who had no idea of the hardships that would be required of them. The majority were Gauls and Germans, the former being jealously acquired by Crixus, whose contingent was by far the largest. But there were also Dacians who were skilled horsemen trained to fight as heavy cavalry in armour, but who also used bows similar to ours. Thracians also flocked to the banner of Spartacus, most for no other reason than he was a fellow countryman. His infamy was spreading. So many were coming in that Spartacus convened a council of war to deal with the overcrowding. The meeting was held in his large genera’s tent, a gift from the garrison of Rome, in the centre of the sprawling camp, over which hung a constant pall of smoke from hundreds of cooking fires that were lit every day. I took Nergal and Godarz with me, Nergal because he was my deputy and Godarz because he was familiar with the locality. I had made him the quartermaster of the cavalry, a position he undertook with relish. In no time he had located a number of villas that we had requisitioned as temporary stables. They had belonged to rich Pompeians, but their owners had long since vanished, either to Naples or Pompeii or to the north.