The Parthian (49 page)

‘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.’

‘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, then 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 who 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, myself 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, though 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.