The Parthian (36 page)

Gallia took off her helmet, handed it to the now shaking Diana and ran over to where the naked girl lay curled up on the ground. She gently knelt beside her and covered her with her cloak, all the time talking gently to her. 

‘My name is Pacorus, prince of Parthia,’ I told the gang leader, ‘and I ride with Spartacus. Drop your sword.’

Some of my men had now moved to the left and right behind me and there were around twenty bows aimed at him. He dropped his sword on the ground. 

‘Where’s Parthia, then?’

‘Far from here,’ I said, replacing my bow in its case. 

‘Gonna kill me, too?’ he sniffed.

‘We should, for all the atrocities you and your men have committed.’

‘Against slaves?’ He was indignant. ‘They’re not real people, just animals, and most Romans are glad that men like me are prepared to round them up for them.’

At that moment Gallia passed him, her left arm round the shoulders of the young girl. The gang leader saw her pass and spat at her.

‘Bitch.’

In a blur Gallia reached for her boot, whipped out the dagger with her right hand and stabbed it into the man’s neck. She left the blade in his flesh as blood gushed out from the wound in great red spurts. He didn’t scream or shout, just looked surprised as he toppled forward onto the ground, which quickly turned crimson. He made some faint gurgling sounds and then fell silent, then my men cheered loudly as Gallia jumped into her saddle and pulled the girl onto the back of her horse. I retrieved her dagger.

We took the cart, mules and horses and left the dead to rot. The girl rode behind Gallia, holding her tightly around the waist, a sullen, sad-looking creature who said nothing and looked down the whole time.  When we stopped to make camp Gallia and Diana cleaned her up and found her a set of leggings and a tunic, then they fed her and cut her matted hair. She clung to Gallia like a frightened child, and always looked down at the ground, never at anyone directly. Later, in the evening, when she had fallen asleep in Gallia’s tent, I sat with her, Diana and a few of my men around a campfire, over which was cooking a pair of rabbits we had caught. I asked if she had spoken about her experience.

‘That would be very difficult for her to do,’ said Gallia, icily.

‘Why?’

‘Because they had cut her tongue out.’

‘What are you going to do with her?’ I asked.

‘She can stay with us.’

I poured some water into my cup. ‘Se won’t be much use, she looks deranged.’

Gallia knocked the cup out of my hand. ‘For someone who is supposedly educated, you can sometimes be an idiot.’

She got up and walked back to her tent. Everyone around the fire looked down and averted my gaze. Suitably chastised, I too walked back to my tent.

We had acquired considerable loot from the country villas we had raided, mostly gold and silver coins. Our rapid appearance had prevented the families from burying their treasure in some hiding place, and in truth they were lucky to escape with their lives at the hands of vengeful slaves. Gallia said little to me in the days following the incident with the slave hunters, though I could detect there was a mighty rage inside her. She called the girl was called Rubi after the town she was rescued near, though the creature still averted any eye contact. Gallia and Diana chatted to her constantly and soon had her trust. And Gafarn seemed to win her over a little, though even his easy charm and good humour found little enthusiasm with her. No doubt her experiences had left her with an unshakeable distrust of men. We kept watch for any enemy patrols, but from what Godarz had told me I was confident that there were few Roman troops in the area. Apparently most of the legions were in foreign lands, stealing territory from the local inhabitants, and Italy itself was largely devoid of soldiers save low-grade garrison troops and veterans who had been given land to farm. The latter might be a problem, but in the south of the country it was slaves who worked on the land, thousands of them. And most of them were now flocking to the banner of Spartacus.

On our way to Metapontum we came across a large and exquisite villa approximately ten miles west of the town of Genusia. The villa stood atop of a large but not high hill and was surrounded by neat rows of olive trees, birch trees and beehives. Slaves were working in the fields among the hives, and they barely gave us a moment’s notice as we rode up the tree-lined drive that led to the villa, its white walls contrasting sharply with the green landscape it sat in. We halted on a large expanse of well-tended grass in front of the villa and I dismounted.

‘No violence,’ I instructed, ‘and be watchful. Those field hands seemed unusually unruffled by our appearance.’

‘Do you want an escort, highness?’ asked Gafarn.

‘I’ll shout if I need assistance,’ I replied.

‘It’s difficult to shout if someone has slit your throat,’ retorted Gallia.

‘I’m sure you can avenge my death many fold.’ I looked at Rubi who had me fixed with a wild stare. ‘You and your cohorts.’

I walked into the courtyard, the atrium as the Romans called it, the floor of which was decorated with mosaics, small rectangular black-and-white stones arranged in geometric patterns. In the centre stood a water fountain on a marble base, the sound of running water filling the courtyard with a calming noise. I took off my helmet and suddenly became aware of a man standing on a marble step between two columns in an open doorway. I assumed that he was in his sixties, with thinning white hair and a wrinkled face. He wore a simple beige tunic and leather sandals, which revealed bony arms. In fact, his face and neck were also lean, which led me to assume that he was a slave.

‘Fetch me your master,’ I told him.

‘Who shall I say is calling?’ he replied in a firm voice.

‘Pacorus, prince of Parthia, and be quick about it.’

‘Well, Prince Pacorus, as I have your name it is only proper that you should know mine, despite the fact that you have arrived at my house uninvited and with armed men at your back.’

‘Your house?’

‘Of course.’ He stepped forward. ‘I am Gaius Labienus, one time general of Rome and now a pensioner living quietly in the country.’

I looked around at the marble columns, decorated walls and floor mosaics. ‘A rich pensioner, it would seem.’

He shrugged. ‘A present from a grateful senate for services rendered,’ he said. ‘Would you like some wine?’

He clapped his hands and moments later a servant dressed in an immaculate white tunic edged with blue arrived carrying a tray holding two silver goblets. The slave offered me the tray first. I took a goblet and nodded my thanks to Gaius. The wine tasted excellent, being obviously of the finest quality.

‘What services?’ I asked, for surely such wealth was not given lightly.

‘Twenty years fighting Rome’s wars overseas, in Macedonia, Phrygia and Syria.’ He drained his goblet and the slave took it away.

‘Your slaves are well trained,’ I said with disdain. He noticed the inflection in my voice.

‘They are not slaves but freedmen, slaves that I have freed and thus are part of my family.’

‘All of them?’ I asked.

‘All of them. Those in the fields and the ones in my household. All are free to go anytime should they wish it so. That being the case, young prince, I doubt you will find any recruits here.’

‘Am I looking for recruits?’ I asked, innocently.

‘I may be old but do not take me for a fool. I know that you serve under the outlaw Spartacus and that you have killed a Roman tribune.’

I must admit that I was pleased that he had heard of me, but I resisted the temptation to boast.

‘He was killed in battle,’ I said, ‘and his army was destroyed.’

‘I know that, and I also know that the slave army looted Forum Annii and now lays siege to Metapontum, and that horsemen ride hither and thither freeing slaves and robbing innocent people. Is that not why you are here, Prince Pacorus? To rob me, perhaps kill me?’

‘I am not a murderer,’ I bristled.

He was silent for a while but stared at me unblinking. ‘No, I do not think you are. But you fight alongside murderers, and when Rome’s vengeance is turned against you, and it will be, it will make no distinction between those who fought with honour and those who fought for vengeance and loot.’

‘All I want is to get home,’ I said.

‘An admirable objective, but many of those who fight with Spartacus have no homes. Some are the children of slaves who were born in Italy. Where is their home?’

‘At least they are free now, not chained like animals.’

‘Are there slaves in the Parthian Empire, Prince Pacorus?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted.

‘And are the chains that bind them any less cruel than Roman shackles? Perhaps chains in Parthia are made of gold, but even if they are I’ll warrant they chafe just as severely.’

‘I have never killed a slave,’ I said indignantly.

‘Neither have I,’ he replied. ‘And neither do I own any slaves. But you were quite prepared to kill me when you marched into my house, were you not, for the sole reason that I was a Roman? Is that not correct?’

‘I am not a murderer, neither are my men. Bu I am an enemy of Rome.’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ he said. ‘But you should not hate your enemies, prince of Parthia, for it will surely cloud your judgment. Above all, a general must remain aloof from such emotions. You fight for freedom, but the freedom you talk of is the liberty to rule your kingdom and command armies, the freedom to live like a god in a palace. Freedom to most means back-breaking work and trying to stay alive day-to-day. Do not confuse the freedom of privilege with the freedom to starve. You have little in common with those you fight alongside.’

‘Did you have anything in common with your soldiers when you were campaigning with them?’ I shot back.

‘Of course, the strongest bond of all, the bond of blood, for we were all Romans.’

‘That may be, Gaius, but there are thousands, like myself, who were taken fighting Rome and are bound by a burning desire, the wish to return to our homelands.

‘And now, sir, I must depart. Have no fear of your person or property being molested. My men are under strict orders.’

He followed me out of the villa to where my men sat in their saddles. When he appeared a group of around twenty of his servants armed with wooden clubs and pitchforks ran over from one of the fields. In an instant my men had arrows in their bowstrings ready to fire. Gaius held up a hand to calm his men.

‘I am unhurt,’ he shouted.

I likewise indicated to my men to lower their bows. The two groups eyed each other resentfully. Gaius walked with me to Remus, whose reins were held by Gafarn.

‘The famous Parthian bows. I remember them from my time in Syria, though not with affection,’ said Gaius. He stroked Remus’ head. ‘A beautiful horse.’

‘His name is Remus,’ I said, vaulting into the saddle.

Gaius laughed. ‘Somewhat ironic, is it not?’

‘Farewell, Gaius Labienus,’ I said.

‘Farewell, Prince Pacorus,’ he raised his right arm in salute. ‘From one soldier to another, I hope you eventually find peace.’

I saluted him and wheeled Remus away. My horsemen followed, leaving an old Roman in front of his lavish villa.

‘We are not plundering him, highness?’ asked Gafarn with surprise.

‘No,’ I said. ‘We are soldiers, not robbers.’

I decided that we had finished with playing at being brigands. Gaius was right. If we carried on down that route we would be no better than murderers. And I was not a murderer. I was a Parthian prince and better than any Roman. But I had to prove that worth, for actions speak far louder than words. I sent riders to the columns Nergal and Burebista were leading, instructing them to desist their activities and rendezvous with me at the coast, ten miles north of Metapontum on the coast of the Gulf of Tarentum. We made camp in a small, sheltered inlet that had a sandy beach. While we waited for the other cavalry to join us, we exercised the horses in the sea and practised our archery skills in the dunes. I came across Gallia and Diana showing Rubi how to use a bow, and the young girl appeared to be enjoying herself shooting at a tunic stuffed with grass that had been fastened to a post. All three were under the watchful eye of Gafarn. The sea breeze made Gallia’s untied locks blow wild and Rubi’s eyes were wide with excitement as she shot arrows into the target, all the while making grunting noises as she fired Gallia’s bow.

‘How’s she doing?’ I asked Gallia as Gafarn showed Rubi how to hold the bowstring correctly.

‘Her progress is slow, but physically she is well. But I fear her mind may be damaged permanently. But I am glad that she is with us.’ She eyed me, daring me to contradict her.

‘Well, lucky we found her when we did.’

‘I suppose,’ she mused. She looked at me again with her piercing blue eyes. ‘Why did you leave that old Roman at the villa alone.’

‘I do not wage war on old men.’

‘He would not hesitate to have you nailed to a cross if the roles were reversed.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

‘Oh, Pacorus. To you it’s just a game, isn’t it? But it’s not about honour or glory, it’s about survival. We are fighting for our lives. What are you fighting for?’

I could have tried to give her a deep, philosophical answer, but I smiled at her and said. ‘For you.’

‘You’re impossible,’ she replied, sticking out her tongue at me and going back to Rubi.

Nergal came to us two days later, brimming with excitement and full of tales of how he and his men had laid waste to the land with fire and sword. The flame-haired Praxima was with him, dressed in a mail shirt, helmet and carrying a shield and spear. Nergal also had a column of mules loaded with treasure with him. Praxima nodded to me curtly (doubtless she had heard about my disapproval of her) but embraced Gallia and Diana warmly. That night we slaughtered a bull that had been plundered from a nearby estate and roasted it over a huge fire on the beach. The wind had dropped and the evening was warm as we ate and drank with abandon, though I was careful not to drink too much wine. To my delight Gallia came and sat beside me as Gafarn, who had appointed himself chief cook for the evening, cut slices from the roasting carcass.