The Parthian (64 page)

‘Ha,’ exclaimed Akmon, ‘that’s three to nothing, Spartacus. Looks like you and Claudia will be going hungry tonight.’

Spartacus drew back his javelin so the tip was near his waist and then thrust it down as hard as he could. He missed.

Domitus shook his head. ‘No, no, no. You’re not trying to kill a man, just tickling a trout. Let them swim near the tip, then strike.’ And just to prove his point, he flicked his wrist and speared yet another fish.

Spartacus threw the javelin onto the bank in frustration and then waded ashore. The sun glinted on his thick, muscular arms, huge shoulders and broad chest, the left side of which carried a long white scar that coursed down from his shoulder blade. He saw me looking at it.

‘A gift from a big Nubian in the arena at Capua. Occupational hazard when you are a gladiator.’ Claudia passed him a tunic and he then embraced Diana and Gallia, the both of them now sat beside Claudia on the riverbank.

Spartacus frowned when he heard a splash and an exultant yell from Domitus, then saw another fish being tossed onto the ground beside him. ‘Enough fishing for one day, Domitus. We have other things to attend to.’

At that moment Castus and Cannicus appeared, dressed in tunics and sandals, swords at their waists. Following behind came the stocky shape of Afranius, who had shaved his head so that he appeared fiercer than ever. He nodded curtly to all assembled and stood bolt upright with his arms by his side.

‘Sit, Afranius,’ said Spartacus, gesturing to some stools placed in front of a table that was loaded with bread, fruit, jugs of wine and plates of meat that had been cooked earlier. ‘Have something to eat and drink. All of you, please, refresh yourselves.’

As we were eating and indulging in idle chat, Godarz and Byrd arrived, which was the signal for Spartacus to reveal the reason he had summoned us all.

‘Friends,’ he began, ‘we have travelled a long way together and have won many victories.’

I, Domitus, Castus and Cannicus cheered. Spartacus held up a hand to still us.

‘But now we have reached the end of our journey. Tomorrow I will assemble the army and release every man and woman from my service. They will be free to march north and cross the Alps, thence to travel to their homelands or wherever they will. I can ask no more of them, or you. Thus today I wished to share the company of my friends one last time, before we all go to fulfill our destinies.’

He walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘For Pacorus, this means going back to his father’s kingdom.’ He smiled at Gallia. ‘And he will take with him a great prize that he has won, perhaps the greatest prize in the whole of Italy and Gaul.’ I blushed and Castus slapped me on the back. Spartacus looked at Godarz and Domitus in turn. ‘I know that others will join our young prince in Parthia, and it fills me with joy that they will do so, for I know that they will be safe there.’

‘And you, lord?’ I said.

He looked at Claudia. ‘I fear that for us there may not be a happy ending. Rome will hunt us down wherever we go.’

‘You will always be welcome in Hatra, lord,’ I said. ‘Roman reach does not extend to Parthia.’

He smiled. ‘Thank you, but no, Claudia and I have our own plans. We think it best if we slip into the mists of anonymity and disappear from history.’

‘You’re too big to be anonymous,’ grumbled Akmon.

‘What about you, Afranius?’ said Castus.

‘I will stay in Italy. I have not finished with Rome.’ He reminded me of Crixus, bursting with hate.

Yet it was a happy day, full of laughter and good company, and as the sun began to set in the west we toasted our friendship and our freedom, for what I had always taken for granted had become a precious thing for me, though the most precious of all was seated beside me and I was taking her back to Hatra. But freedom was the idea that bounded us all to each other, the invisible sinew that tied the whole army together. And on that day I made a vow that I would never own a slave again, for I had been one and knew what misery they had to endure. And on a warm summer’s evening in northern Italy, by a mighty meandering river, I fell asleep in the midst of my friends and in the arms of the woman I loved.

Two days later the army was assembled by noon, nearly sixty thousand troops and another five thousand women and children we had somehow collected on our travels through Italy. We looked magnificent that day. We still had much Roman gold and silver that we had taken from the enemy, and I had earlier sent Byrd into Mutina to purchase the finest black leather bridle, breastgirth and saddle straps money could buy for Remus, Roman money that is. To the Romans Byrd was just another trader with a wagon, albeit one with a strange accent. When he returned I had the leather inlaid with silver coins that were pierced through the centre and then sewn onto the leather. I cleaned my black cuirass and hung alternating strips of thin steel and silver from its base so that they shimmered in the sun. Byrd also purchased a new thick woolen cloak for me that was pure white with a silver clasp. Remus’ mane was tied in place with black leather strips and his tail was wrapped with a black cotton guard that was also decorated with silver strips. He looked like a steed of the gods, as befitting a prince of Hatra. On my head I wore my Roman helmet with a thick white crest of goose feathers and at my waist I wore the sword that Spartacus had given me many months before.

During the time we had spent by the Pagus I had asked a number of women, who had been weavers for their Roman masters, to make me a standard. The review of the army was the first time it was displayed, and I had to fight back tears when I first saw it. It was a square of heavy cotton measuring six foot square, coloured scarlet with a white horse’s head stitched on each side. When we rode onto the parade field it was carried behind me by a large Parthian named Vardanes, who had served with me since Cappadocia. The slight easterly breeze that blew that day caused it to flap in the wind and everyone could see the white horse on a scarlet background. And behind the standard rode just over three thousand horsemen, two thousand horse archers, Burebista’s thousand mounted spearmen and Gallia’s one hundred female horse archers. Every quiver was full of arrows, and at camp more wagons were full of replacements, for Godarz and his quartermasters had worked tirelessly to replenish our stocks. The surrounding countryside, made up of thick forests, had been plundered ruthlessly for wood for shafts and great tracts had been cleared.

We formed up in our dragons on the right flank of the army, each one composed of ten companies of one hundred horsemen. The sun glinted off whetted spear points and burnished helmets, while every man in Burebista’s command wore a mail shirt, carried a shield and a sword at his waist. As we were moving into position, to our left the legions of Spartacus were forming into line. Beside us were the three legions of Germans under Castus, which included the remnants of those Gauls who had fought under Crixus but who had managed to escape north after the Romans had defeated him. Occupying the centre of the line were Akmon’s four legions of Thracians, with another legion filled with Greeks, Jews, Dacians, Illyrians and even a few Egyptians and Berbers attached to the Thracians. On the left flank stood the three Spanish legions of Afranius, who Akmon now reckoned to be the best trained in the army, and also the most unpredictable, like their leader. They were, nevertheless, a credit to the angry young Spaniard who led them. In front of the army, mounted on a line of wagons, were the standards we had taken from the enemy — silver eagles, red pennants, poles with silver discs fastened to them, and cavalry flags — dozens of them, testimony to the generalship of Spartacus, one time gladiator and lowly auxiliary, now master of all Italy.

The orders had been issued the night before. Word had been passed to all commanders of cohorts and centuries that the army would parade on the morrow for one last time. And then those assembled would be dismissed from their service at the sound of one hundred trumpets being blown, after which the men would make their way back to their respective camps where they would be issued with one month’s food ration and then they would be free to go. They were to take their weapons and clothing with them, and those who were determined to make their way in groups would be issued with one tent per eight men. All remaining coin was to be distributed evenly, and Godarz and his assistants had worked out how much gold and silver was to be issued to each century, after which each centurion would divide the amount among his men accordingly. Byrd had sent parties of his men to the foot of the Alps themselves, and they reported that there were no Roman garrisons along the route, or indeed any Roman soldiers anywhere. To all intents and purposes they had fallen off the edge of the world.

Before the trumpets were sounded Spartacus rode to every cohort assembled, speaking to their commanders and thanking the men for their valour and loyalty. It took him over two hours before he had completed this task, and at the end there were many with tears in their eyes. I rode over to where he and Claudia sat on their horses. Claudia looked the beauty she was that day, her long black hair flowing freely around her shoulders. She wore a simple white tunic edged with green, with light brown leggings and red leather boots. Spartacus, as usual, was dressed in his plain tunic and mail shirt, with an ordinary legionary’s helmet on his head. He never pretended to be anything more than a common man and soldier, and that was why thousands were devoted to him. I halted Remus beside him. He looked at my horse and smiled.

‘Remus has certainly put on his best attire today, Pacorus.’

‘Yes, lord. I thought it fitting that today he, and the rest of your horsemen, should look their best. It was the least we could do.’

‘Well, my friend,’ he said, ‘it has been an interesting journey that has led us to this place. But now it is time for all of us to start a new adventure.’

‘You know,’ I said, ‘that you both can come to Parthia with Gallia and I.’

‘We know that, Pacorus,’ answered Claudia, ‘but to do so would only bring war and destruction to your people and we think too much of you to let that happen.’

Domitus walked up dressed in his war finery. He had once been a centurion and he was now dressed as one, with steel greaves, red tunic, mail shirt adorned with silver discs and a transverse red crest on his helmet. He looked a different man from the poor wretch we had rescued at the silver mine at Thurri, and I liked to think that he was happy to be with us. He acknowledged me and then spoke to Spartacus.

‘We wait on your signal, sir.’

Spartacus looked around him and sighed. At that moment there was a deathly silence. It seemed that even the birds had stopped flying. The only thing that stirred was the wind, which made my scarlet standard flutter, revealing glimpses of the white horse’s head that it sported. Remus chomped at his bit and scraped at the ground with his right front foot. I leaned forward and stroked his neck. I felt a trickle of sweat roll down the right side of my face, for the sun was at its height, the sky was cloudless and it was warm.

Domitus turned smartly and signalled to the trumpeters, whose piercing sound blasted across the assembled massed ranks. Remus shifted nervously at the sudden noise, as did a number of other horses among the cavalry’s ranks. So this was the moment when the army that was undefeated would simply melt away. The trumpets ceased blowing and I watched to see the ranks break as the troops made their way back to camp. Nergal and Burebista had relayed my orders to their company commanders, who had in turn had informed their men that they were free to leave when the signal was given. As they had no food or water with them whilst on parade, this would necessitate them also riding back to camp and being issued with food for both horse and man, enough to take them over the Alps at least.

As the seconds passed I realised that nothing had happened. Nothing. No one had moved, not one. Had they not heard the trumpet blast? Of course they had. Then what? Then a new sound began to be heard, this time from the ranks, barely audible at first, but then gaining in strength and volume until the whole plain was filled with the mighty din of thousands of voices shouting as loud as they could. Troops were raising their javelins in the air in salute as they shouted, while those on horses were holding their spears and bows aloft. And into the air they shouted the same word over and over again, tens of thousand in unison acclaiming their general.

‘Spartacus. Spartacus. Spartacus.’

The chanting was getting louder and men on horses were having difficulty controlling their mounts as I glanced over to the man whose name they were hailing. He stood rock-like on his horse, staring straight ahead and seemingly oblivious to what was going on in front of him, but as I looked more closely I saw that there was a thin smile on his face. I looked across at Claudia who had tears running down her cheeks. Spartacus suddenly snapped out of his daze and turned to me.

‘It would appear that my troops are disobeying me.’

‘It seems so, lord.’

Across from us strode Castus, Akmon and Afranius, who all stopped in front of Spartacus’ horse. Akmon spat on the ground.

‘What are you going to do now?’ 

‘Well,’ replied Spartacus, ‘it would seem that no one wants to go over the Alps.’

‘The south, then. Sicily, perhaps?’ said Akmon.

Spartacus nodded. ‘Sicily would offer us hope, though how we get across the sea I do not know.’

And so it was that the army of the slave general Spartacus stayed in Italy. I often looked back on that moment, how absurd it appeared at the time but how it actually made perfect sense. The ranks of the army were made up of individuals who had nothing, had been condemned to a life of back-breaking servitude, many born to slave mothers and fathers. To Rome they were mere beasts of burden to be used and abused. But Spartacus had given them hope, and what’s more he had given them victory over the hated Romans. Not just one, but a string of triumphs. Those men who had fought in those victories, and who had formed bonds of friendship with those they stood beside in battle, had no wish to meekly lay down their arms and crawl away like whipped dogs. I should have thought of it myself. Gallia herself had told me the same when she had announced that her family was here, with me, with Spartacus, with the army. In each legion, in each cohort and in each century men felt the same bonds to their friends and comrades. They wished to remain with the family that was the army of Spartacus.