The Parthian (26 page)

With the bows now ready I was keen to turn them into horse archers. Each rider had learnt how to mount and dismount quickly, how to jump obstacles, ride over uneven terrain, and perform circles, turns and fast halts. Then they had moved on to operate as part of a larger formation of a hundred-man company, how to move from column into line without tangling with each other, how to wheel in formation and double back, to turn in a circle, and to press home the charge. It had taken three hard months of daily training to turn a group of freed slaves, albeit some with riding skills, into a disciplined body of cavalry. Now it was time for them to learn how to shoot a bow from the saddle.

It was good to feel a bow in my hand at long last. The assembled included Gallia and Diana, for they too had become part of our brotherhood. Even Nergal had stopped his protests at their presence. In truth I was surprised at how they had both worked hard, drilling constantly, learning basic horse care and tending to their mounts assiduously. I had formed a personal unit of twenty Parthians, which Gafarn rather annoyingly called my royal bodyguard. Into this unit I drafted Gallia and Diana, and for his impertinence I ordered Gafarn to be
their
personal bodyguard. He might be an insolent pest, but he could ride as well as any of us and he reckoned that he was the best archer in the Parthian Empire; a boast that I reluctantly had to admit had some merit in it. Now he stood with the rest of my cavalry, hundreds of them gathered in a large field in Campania. I glanced at Gallia and smiled and she returned the gesture. My chest heaved with delight. I held my bow aloof for all those assembled to see.

‘This is what makes Parthia strong. This is what keeps Parthia free. Our horse archers are the finest in the world and this bow, descended from the ones used by the great horsemen of the northern steppes many generations ago, will out-range and out-shoot any other bow in the world. Some of you are already acquainted with shooting arrows from the saddle, but aside from those from Hatra, none of you has used a Parthian bow. You will be taught how to shoot this bow from a standing position and then from the saddle. There’s no secret to being a good archer, it just takes practice, lots and lots of practice. We may be few in number compared to the rest of the army, but in battle we can make the difference between victory and defeat.

‘Godarz will issue each one of you with a bow. Treasure it, treat it like your best friend, for in combat it will be the thing that will save your life. With the help of your bows we can defeat the Romans, and if we defeat the Romans then we can all go home.’

Afterwards each man was issued with a bow, its case, two bowstrings, a quiver and thirty arrows. Thus equipped, the companies rode back to their quarters. Gallia and Diana took their place in the queue and accepted their bows from Godarz. I noticed that none of the men objected to them being included. The next day archery practice began. I built a target in the grounds of the villa, a simple circle of packed straw nailed to a post. I asked Gallia and Diana to come to the villa to demonstrate their archery skills, while the rest of the men were divided into groups of five, each of them having a Parthian as an instructor. The groups practised in the fields around the villa. The day was warm and the garden was filled with the sweet scent of oleanders, violets, crocus and narcissus. The Romans, the rich ones in any case, loved their flowers and herbs, and we had found separate alcoves where mint, savory, celery seed, basil, bay and hyssop grew. Both women were dressed in their tunics and knee-length breeches, with their hair in a single plait. Godarz sat on stool and munched an apple, while I attended Gallia and Gafarn tutored Diana.

I took my bow and faced the two women. ‘Archery is very simple and with practice most people can become a reasonable shot.’

‘Even a woman?’ teased Gallia.

‘Even a woman,’ I replied.

‘Especially a woman, for they have a more cunning eye,’ said Gafarn, who winked at Diana.

‘Thank you, Gafarn,’ I said, sternly. ‘First of all, remember to adopt a comfortable stance, one foot in front of the other. Don’t tense, let your body become one with the bow.’ I took an arrow from my quiver sat on the ground and strung it. ‘The arrow should be placed so that two flight feathers are towards you and the third is pointing away from you. Put three fingers to the string. The index finger should be above the arrow and the second and third finger should be under it. Form a deep hook with your fingers; they should be bent in both first and second joint. Place the string in the first joint.

‘Now, place your bow hand in the grip and let your knuckles form a line forty-five degrees against the bow. The pressure point should be on the thick part of the thumb muscle so that the pressure from the grip should go as straight as possible into the arm. Then straighten your bow arm, lift it and at the same time lift your draw arm and pull the string from almost nothing to around a third of the draw length. Keep the draw hand at the same height as the bow hand, at the level of your eye.

‘Your draw-arm shoulder should be in a natural position, not lifted up or pushed back, just lift the bow as naturally as you can. You can stretch your bow hand, your left hand, against the target at this point and you will automatically get your shoulder in the correct position close to the string. You are ready to shoot, but remember to relax your draw arm and only use the muscles of your back to hold the string. Your bow arm should hold a pressure against the target corresponding to the force that works backwards so the body and bow are in balance. The holding phase is very short, it should not take more than half of a second, enough to relax the arm muscles and transfer the holding weight to the back muscles. Now you aim, drawing back the string a fraction. Don’t lean forward or back; keep your body in balance. Don’t worry too much about aiming, concentrate on your back muscles, for they are the secret to being a good archer. Your subconscious will take care of the target. You have seen it, you know where it is, but to hit it you must have a good release.

‘The correct way is to simply relax your fingers on your draw hand and let the force from the string move the fingers out of the way. You should not use your muscles in the hand to open the fingers curled around the string as this will disturb the string and cause inconsistent arrow flight. So let your fingers open so the string gets a clear release with a minimum of disturbance. Your bow arm should not move when you take the shot, since you have a tension backwards in the draw arm, and your hand will move smoothly backwards when the string is released. Keep your eyes at the target until the arrow hits it.’

The arrow flew straight and true and slammed into the middle of the target.

‘Good shot,’ said Godarz, taking another bite of his apple.

‘Excellent shot, highness,’ said Gafarn, who strung an arrow himself and let it fly, also hitting the centre of the target and splitting my arrow in two. Diana squealed in delight and gave Gafarn a kiss, while Gallia looked at me, grinned and shrugged.

‘A lucky shot,’ I mumbled.

‘Do you want me to do it again, highness?’ asked Gafarn, innocently, though with a wide grin across his face.

‘No, we are here to instruct not compete.’

‘Just as well,’ said Gafarn, smiling at a clearly impressed Diana,’ I always beat him.’

It was a marvelous afternoon, and both Gallia and Diana showed some promise with a bow. It was a good start, and the day was rounded off with all of us sharing a meal of bread, olives and fruit, washed down by wine. Afterwards, as usual, I rode with Gallia back to the main camp. Gafarn had taken Diana off to see some wild stallions that the men had just brought in. It was the first time that I had been alone with her. She was happy, I think, and I hoped that being with me made her so, but perhaps it was just because it had been an enjoyable day.

‘My arms will ache tomorrow.’

‘They will get used to it. Keep practising and your body will become accustomed to shooting.’

We were riding side by side and she turned to look at me. ‘Gafarn is very free with his tongue in your company. Is it normal for a servant to speak to a prince so?’

I laughed. ‘Gafarn is, well, he has always been with me since I was a child. I put up with him because he has always been the same irritating rascal he is now. But he is loyal, both to me and to my parents. So much so that I put up with him.’

‘And he’s a good archer,’ she said, smiling.

I grimaced. ‘Indeed.’

‘Do you miss your home, Pacorus?’

The question surprised me somewhat. ‘Yes.’

‘What do you miss most about it?’

‘My father and mother, I suppose, and my friend, Vata.’

‘No one else? No wife?’

I laughed. ‘No wife, though my parents would like me to marry, I think. They were engineering a marriage between myself and Princess Axsen of Babylon. A marriage that would strengthen my father’s kingdom. But she’s very fat.’

‘You do not like fat women?’

I felt her questions were part of an intricate game, some sort of test. What was her purpose in asking me such queries?

‘I think I would like to get to know someone first before I marry them, be they fat or thin. And would prefer to marry someone that I love rather than be a pawn in a game of strategy.’

She said nothing for a few minutes as our horses slowly ambled towards the hundreds of small fires that dotted the camp at evening time. ‘I think that too,’ she mused as we passed the crude wooden watchtowers that guarded the entrance. I said goodnight to her at Spartacus’ tent. I glanced behind once as Remus trotted down the central avenue, to see her standing arrow straight observing me. This woman was coursing through my heart and head with the force of a desert wind. Gallia was the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I drifted off to sleep at night.

The last weeks of summer were a happy time as eight hundred men and two women were turned into horse archers. There were a fair share of cracked ribs and bruised prides as individuals learnt to shoot a bow from a horse, and often fell from the saddle when turning to the left to loose an arrow or shoot at a target directly ahead. But all of them wanted to learn, wanted to be part of the decisive component of the army. And as the time passed I almost forgot that we were in the land of the enemy and would have to fight for our freedom. But the Romans had not forgotten about us, and as autumn came upon us news reached camp that a Roman force was marching south to destroy the slave general Spartacus and his army.

Chapter 7

I
t was Byrd who rode to my headquarters and reported the news that the Romans were approaching. His horse was lathered in sweat and he was covered in dust as he gave his intelligence.

‘Romani, more than five thousand, most foot, also horse.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

He drained a cup of water offered to him by Godarz. ‘North of Capua.’

‘That’s only thirty miles away,’ remarked Godarz. ‘They could be here in two days if they got a move on.’

I rode to Vesuvius with Godarz, Nergal and Byrd, who had been given a fresh horse. We galloped down the central avenue and halted before Spartacus’ tent. Guards took our horses as we went inside to find Spartacus and Crixus sat at the table eating a meal. It was the first time I had seen the Gaul in weeks, and he sneered when he saw me and spat a piece of meat from the bone he was gnawing on the floor. He looked as big and disgusting as ever. Spartacus nodded as I marched over to him and saluted, being careful to ignore Crixus. Nergal, Godarz and Byrd followed me.

‘Romans, lord, approaching from the north.’

Spartacus put down his cup and leaned back in his chair. ‘Where?’

I pointed at Byrd. ‘This man has seen them with his own eyes. Tell him. Byrd.’

‘Five thousand foot, thereabouts, five score cavalry. North of Capua yesterday. Closer now, I think.’

‘Ha,’ bellowed Crixus, jumping up and knocking the chair to the floor, ‘we outnumber them. Let me and my men handle them.’ He looked at me. ‘Your horse boys have done their job, you won’ be needed any longer.’

I could not resist the challenge. ‘Without my horsemen you would still be feeding your face while the Romans approached unseen. Without my men you are blind.’

‘Enough!’ snapped Spartacus. ‘If you two want a fight there are a few thousand Romans to contend with.’

‘Lord Spartacus,’ interrupted Godarz, ‘if I may. The quickest way to get here is down the Via Annia.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Crixus, picking up his chair and sitting back down in it.

‘The main road to the south of Italy,’ replied Godarz. ‘If they march down that they will reach Nola in a day, then they can head west.’

‘And pin us against the sea,’ said Spartacus.

‘Yes, lord,’ replied Godarz.

‘Five thousand Gauls say they won’t make it to Vesuvius,’ boasted Crixus, tearing off a huge piece of bread from a loaf and stuffing it into his equally huge mouth. Did this man never stop shoveling food into his belly?

‘How many of your men have weapons, Crixus?’ asked Spartacus.

Crixus shrugged. ‘About half. But don’t worry, we can get the rest when we kill these Romans who are coming. My boys are itching for a fight.’

‘Or just itching, from fleas, no doubt,’ I said.

‘What was that, boy?’

‘Nothing,’ I smiled. Crixus glared at me. I knew he hated me, but his dislike seemed to have grown markedly since the last time we had seen each other.

‘No,’ said Spartacus in a stern voice, ‘we cannot risk a battle with the Romans yet. We need more weapons and more men. The Romans can afford a defeat or two, we cannot. If we are beaten our army will dissolve. Our first battle has to be a success, for only victory can cement this army together and make it strong for the hardships that are to come. We will reconvene tonight, at dusk. Pacorus, inform Castus to join us.’

‘Yes, lord,’ I saluted and turn to go.

‘And Pacorus,’ said Spartacus.’

‘Lord?’

‘Well done, your men are proving the asset I hoped they would be.’

‘Thank you, lord,’ I said, flashing a disdainful glance at Crixus, who again spat some food on the floor.