The Parthian (44 page)

But now came the hardest task: the serial shot. This was a five-target run, the first target placed a hundred feet from the start line and the other four targets placed at one hundred feet intervals after that. All targets were side shots but they came fast, one after the other. For the final time Claudia gave the signal and I thrust my knees into Remus’ flanks and once more he reared up and then shot forward into a gallop. I shot five arrows and all five hit bull’s-eyes, and once again I received polite applause from the crowd. Gallia followed me, unyielding, iron-willed and at one with her mount. I saw Gafarn in the way she rode, her legs seemingly having been bolted onto the horse but her upper body moving rhythmically as she fixed her eyes on each target and fired her arrows, stringing an arrow, aiming and firing it at the target in one seamless movement. First target, red flag; second target, red flag; third target, red flag; fourth target, red flag; the scorer hesitates, then raises a fifth red flag as the crowd erupts in a deafening roar. Praxima and Diana ran over to Gallia when she returned to the start line and grabbed her hands as others thronged around her, offering salutations. I walked Remus back to the start line as the crowd parted to let me through. The noise quietened down to nothing as I halted Remus a few feet from Gallia, who watched me from behind the cheek guards of her helmet. A wide circle had formed around us. I saw Spartacus watching me, as well as Claudia, Gafarn, Nergal and Godarz. There was silence as I dismounted and walked with my bow over to Gallia. She took off her helmet and watched as I unstrung my bow and held it out towards her. This gesture was an old Parthian custom that showed respect for an adversary, usually after a battle.

‘I Pacorus, prince of Hatra and a son of the Arsacid Dynasty, do hereby grant you your wish, lady. You and those who ride with you shall fight by our side from henceforth.’

Gallia vaulted from her saddle and threw her arms around me, kissing me on the lips as she did so. Thus it was that the cavalry of the slave army of General Spartacus had in its ranks a company of women warriors under the leadership of a Gallic princess named Gallia, one whom I hoped to make a princess of Parthia if we ever escaped from Italy.

As the weeks passed the tempo of training increased to prepare the army for the hard campaigning that it would face in the spring. Fewer recruits came in to us now, as the country had largely been denuded of slaves as far as the Gulf of Scylacium. Spartacus had been right when he told me that few town or city slaves would join us. Their lives were mostly ones of ease and good food, and many were given their freedom by their masters, especially if they served as private secretaries or teachers of their children. Almost no slaves fled Thurri to join us, apart from the odd runaway or slaves who had committed crimes against their masters, or had even killed them. Spartacus had such men (and they were always men) executed, which I found inexplicably harsh. But he told me that for such a crime all of the master’s slaves would be put to death, and so a man who murdered his master was responsible for their murders as well. I could not understand the logic, but he was our leader and his decision was final.

The shipments of metals from Thurri took place at the allotted times at the assigned beach, the boats commanded by Athineos filled with iron plus bronze for my arrowheads. And as per the contract we delivered more chests of gold bars, each one carefully examined by the eunuch. On one occasion, after the last cart had been loaded, I waited for the eunuch to finish tallying his records.

‘Everything in order?’ I asked him.

‘It is,’ he sniffed.

‘Good. I need you pass on a message to your master that I need to meet with Senator Hortonius.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘That is none of your business, woman.’ I replied.

He smarted at my remark but said nothing. Athineos laughed.

‘He is a very busy man,’ said the eunuch.

‘In two day’s time,’ I said, ‘two hours after dawn at the western gate.’

The eunuch threw his head back like a woman, sniffed in disgust and walked away from me.

‘You want to watch yourself, young Parthian,’ Athineos said to me as the last load of iron was placed on one of the carts beside his boat. ‘Word is that there is a big price on your head. The Romans want to take you back to Rome and parade you through the streets, before…’

‘Before?’ 

He spat into the sea. ‘Before they feed you to the beasts in the area or think up some other fancy death for you. I’ve heard that they had a bull rape a woman in the arena.’

‘What?’ I was disgusted.

‘Yes, recreating some sort of myth or something. Inventive bastards, I’ll say that for them.’

‘They are a people with no honour,’ I said.

‘But buckets of pride,’ he said. ‘And they can’t stand their precious pride being dented, and that’s what you and this slave general have done. They also don’t take kindly to their cities being looted.’

‘They loot other peoples’ cities quick enough.’

‘Course they do,’ he said. ‘Because to the Romans all other peoples are barbarians, fit only to be slaves, ruled over and the like. It’s their mission, see, to civilise the world.’

‘There is nothing noble in the way they conduct their affairs.’

‘That’s another thing they dislike about you,’ he said. ‘They got rid of their nobility a few hundreds years ago, and they think kings and princes don’t belong in the modern world.’

The carts were being driven off the beach now, back to camp to be turned into weapons. 

‘They don’t mind taking money from their enemies,’ I mused.

Athineos shook his head. ‘Totally different. Trade is trade and money has no smell, as the saying goes. They’ll take your gold, sure enough, but that will have no bearing on the final reckoning.’

‘Time to go,’ I said, offering my hand to him. His grip was vice-like as he shook it.

‘Remember what I said, look for me at the docks in Thurii when your little adventure turns sour.’

I climbed down the side of his boat and jumped into the cool, chest-deep sea. On the beach I watched as the boats pulled up their anchors and sailed back from whence they had come, then rode on the last cart back to camp. It occurred to me that Athineos was right. The Romans would neither forget nor forgive what we had done to them, and in the spring Rome would send another army to fight us.

‘We all have a price on our heads,’ said Spartacus, his strong profile highlighted by the oil lamp that hung from one of the posts in his tent. He had called a council of war that same evening, having supervised the unloading of the iron at the forges. He had immense pride that they were working night and day producing weapons for the army.

‘It’s different for you, Pacorus, for you have a home and a kingdom to go back to.’

‘So do you all,’ I said to all those assembled.

‘What, some shit-hole in a filthy, damp forest?’ as usual Crixus was drunk and spoiling for an argument. ‘I would rather stay in Italy, at least it’s warmer.’

Dumnorix banged the table with the hilt of his dagger in support of his commander’s words.

‘He has a point, Spartacus,’ said Akmon, his long arms folded in front on him and he sat back in his chair. ‘Thrace isn’t much of a land, all rock and dirt-poor villages.’

‘I have no desire to stay in Italy,’ said Castus, ‘and my Germans feel the same.’

‘Of course they do,’ pondered Crixus, ‘they feel at home in the dark forests, that’s because their women are so ugly that they don’t like to look at them in daylight.’

‘Enough,’ interrupted Spartacus as Castus drew his sword and in jest threatened to trim Crixus’s beard. ‘Have we enough iron from the Romans?’

‘Enough, lord,’ replied Godarz, ‘to equip each man with a sword and javelin.’

‘I would like to ask for more silver, lord.’ I said.

Spartacus looked at the table in front of him. ‘For what?’

‘A thousand mail shirts, a thousand helmets and three thousand cloaks for my horsemen.’

‘And women,’ mocked Crixus. I ignored his provocation as Dumnorix stifled a laugh.

‘They will command a high price,’ said Spartacus. ‘Is the mine still working, Godarz?’

‘Yes, lord. But much of the gold has now gone.’

Spartacus stretched back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck, staring ahead. ‘Very well, Pacorus, unless anyone has any objections I will grant your request.’ He looked at each man gathered around the table. Castus shook his head, as did Cannicus. Crixus merely belched and shrugged his shoulders, while Dumnorix just played idly with his dagger. Godarz shook his head. I had my silver.

‘After we’ve finished trading with the Romans, we should take the city and take all the gold and silver back,’ said Crixus.

‘That will cost us a lot of men, Crixus,’ remarked Spartacus. ‘And to what end?’

‘To show the Romans that we aren’t dancing to their tune, that’s why. For as long as we stay here we are still their slaves.’ Suddenly Crixus seemed remarkably sober. ‘I look at those walls every day and they remind me of the walls of the arena, and I can see all those Roman bastards looking down at me, laughing and drinking and waging whether I will live or die. And that’s what they are doing now, earning a fat profit and waiting to see how long it will be before we are all dead. That’s why we should storm the city, to kill them before they kill us.’

‘In the spring we will march north, Crixus,’ said Spartacus. ‘There will be no attack on the city, not unless they provoke us. We will need every man if we are to fight our way out of Italy.’

Crixus drained his cup of wine and stood. ‘I respect you Spartacus, but I tell you that none of us will leave Italy, so we might as well take as many of them with us as we can.’ Then he marched from the tent. I wondered how prophetic his words would be.

I met Senator Hortonius at the appointed time and place. The guards on the gatehouse no longer bothered to rouse themselves as I approached their position, merely casting me a glance and then returning to their conversations, wrapped in their red cloaks to keep out the chill early morning air. Quintus Hortonius was similarly attired, though his cloak was far more luxurious and was edged with purple. I saluted him as he approached me on the wooden bridge.

‘I will be glad when the spring arrives and the weather gets warmer. My old bones do not like the cold.’

‘I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir,’ I said. 

‘Is there a problem with our arrangement?’

‘No, but I would like you to arrange a meeting between myself and Marcus Aristius, the merchant.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought we had agreed the proper procedure for the conduct of trade.’

‘We had,’ I replied, ‘but there are some special items that I require that you will probably not want to be involved with.’

Now he was intrigued. ‘How so?’

I saw no reason to try to deceive him as he was bound to find out anyway. ‘I need a thousand mail shirts, a thousand cavalry helmets and three thousand cloaks, and I believe that he’s the only one that can deliver them, probably from Roman stores somewhere in the east. I suspect you would not want to be involved in such a business.’

‘And he would?’

I shrugged. ‘He’s a rich merchant whose only duty is to his pocket. You’re a politician whose duty, presumably, is to Rome.’

‘A rather cynical view,’ he said. ‘In any case Marcus would still run a considerable risk if he acquiesced to your request. And the cost would reflect that risk.’

‘I’ve no doubt,’ I added, dryly.

He noticed my tone. ‘You would do well to remember your position, young Parthian. We do not have to deal with you.’

‘I realise that, sir, I merely make a request.’

He smiled. ‘In that case I shall pass on your request to Marcus Aristius. His clerk will give you his answer at the same time tomorrow morning, here at the same hour. I think that concludes our business, so I will wish you good day.’

He nodded at me, turned and walked back into the city, the gates closing after him.

Marcus Aristius agreed to my request.

The meeting took place ten miles south of the city and about half a mile offshore, aboard a well-fitted ship, to which I was rowed on a grey wind-flecked sea in a small boat with the eunuch at the bow, a slave rowing in the middle and myself sat perched on the stern. The eunuch said nothing during the journey. I had to ridden to the spot with a dozen horsemen, who looked after Remus while I carried out the negotiations. When we were almost at the boat it occurred to me that I could be killed by an archer quite easily, or run through with a sword and then dumped overboard. However, I believed the promise of further riches would keep me safe, at least for the moment. Later, standing on the deck, I could see that the ship was a sturdy, broad-beamed vessel with a high stern post, which had been fashioned into a gold-leafed decorative finial. There was a deck cabin at its stern. The boat was powered by a row of oars on each side and had a single square, red and blue sail. I was led to the cabin by two huge black soldiers dressed in white tunics, white sandals, mail shirts and armed with long, curved swords which they carried across their chests. Marcus Aristius sat behind a large ornate table in the middle of the cabin, the walls of which were painted white. Two young black boys stood behind him, each one holding a large feathered fan to cool him. In truth it wasn’t particularly warm but Aristius was sweating, his brow being mopped by an even younger black boy. Clearly this merchant had a penchant for black male slaves. The boys themselves were attired in pure white tunics with gold earrings and gold torques around their necks. He motioned for me to sit opposite him in a plush chair that had been placed for my convenience. The two guards stood menacingly behind me, yet the atmosphere was friendly rather than hostile. Yet another black slave brought in a tray of fruit, which Aristius picked at greedily with his podgy, ring-adorned fingers. I was offered the tray next, along with a silver platter and a silver goblet, into which was poured wine. The eunuch walked behind me and sat at a smaller table off to one side, then proceeded to ready a parchment for note taking.