The Parthian (28 page)

Either side of the narrow track was a green jumble of fallen branches, long grass and dense brush, from where suddenly erupted the hiss of arrows cutting through the air. The forest was filled with the sound of dull thuds as they hit their targets, lancing through mail shirts to embed themselves in flesh. Riders groaned and either slumped in their saddles or fell to the ground as my bowmen fired arrow after arrow into the line of Roman cavalry. My men were firing from short range — probably no more than fifty feet — and at that distance each missile was finding its mark with deadly effect. Some of the Romans were panicking and attempting to wheel about and flee, but the track was too narrow and congested and their efforts were in vain. Horses, their eyes wild with terror, bolted hither and thither into the trees, knocking over those Romans who had dismounted in an attempt to avoid the hail of arrows. Their officer was frantically trying to rally what was left of his command, but despair had gripped his men and they were not listening to his orders and threats. He saw me standing on Remus, observing his men getting cut own and charged forward, only to crash to the ground when an arrow pierced his horse’s shoulder, sending the animal and rider to the floor. He sprang up, his sword in his hand, and walked towards me.

‘Today you die, scum,’ he spat as he pointed the point of his blade at me. He was brave, I gave him that.

I took off my quiver and hooked its strap on a horn of my saddle, then holstered my bow in its case that was fastened to my saddle. I jumped down and drew my
spatha
. The Roman attacked me with great slashing movements. He had some skill, I had to admit, and there was strength behind his blows, but his attack was predictable and I parried his sword with ease. He drew back and then launched another attack with a flurry of sword strokes.

‘What’s the matter, vermin,’ he shouted, ‘afraid to fight?’

There is no point in wasting energy on shouting abuse at your opponent — better to concentrate on killing him and shutting him up for good. His blows were getting weaker, only slightly but weaker nevertheless. He screamed with rage and swung his sword again in an attempt to bring it down on my helmet and split my skull, but I saw it coming and leapt aside to his right. As his right arm came down I slashed at it with my sword and cut the flesh of his upper arm. He yelped in pain and dropped his blade. He went to retrieve it but the point of my
spatha
was at his throat in an instant.

I eased the point into the nape of his neck, but he just stood there.

‘Take off your helmet, Roman.’

As the blood pumped from the deep gash on his right arm he slowly removed his gleaming helmet with his left hand, to reveal a man in his early thirties with a large face, high forehead, hooked nose and short, curly blond hair. His eyes burned with hate as he stood in silence, while behind him his men were dying and the sounds of battle echoed through the trees. I entertained the thought of ramming the blade through his throat, but then decided to toy with him instead.

‘Your men are being slaughtered, Roman,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you would like to join them.’

‘Romans die but Rome always wins, scum,’ he was shaking with rage, or was it fear? I knew not.

‘Your manners are as poor as your sword skills,’ I replied, still holding the point of my blade against his flesh. ‘You should come to Parthia if you want to be a swordsman, or a cavalryman for that matter.’

‘Parthia?’

‘Yes, Roman, for I am a Parthian. Did you not know that by the way we have cut you to pieces?’ I was boasting and enjoying every minute and had completely forgotten about what was happening around me. Fortunately Godarz had not, and he suddenly appeared on his horse beside me. 

‘Roman foot, highness, moving fast towards us. Time to go.’

I broke off the battle of stares with the Roman as Godarz blew his horn. Moments later horsemen appeared from the trees, making their way through the foliage onto the track. I looked ahead and could see the track littered with dead and wounded men, riderless horses standing or walking around, and beyond them a column of legionaries marching at double time towards us.  

‘Highness!’ shouted Godarz, holding Remus’ reins in his hand.

I glanced at the Roman, sheathed my sword, turned and leapt into the saddle on Remus’ back. As we rode away the Roman, standing amidst the wreckage of his command, shouted after us.

‘I am Tribune Lucius Furius, Parthian, and we will meet again. You hear me, Parthian. We shall meet again!’

We followed the rest of my men along the track, which skirted the top of the tree-covered mountain and brought us down the other side. We rendezvoused at the treeline in front of a large, empty field and Godarz organised a roll call. We had suffer only five men wounded, two with broken bones and three with minor cuts. None of the horses had suffered serious injuries. Afterwards we rode hard through green countryside, passing villas and villages but seeing hardly anyone. Those we did see ran in panic away from the column of dust-covered riders. After two hours the horses were blown, so we found a small wood with a stream not far away and rested them in the shade. I posted guards as saddles were unstrapped and harnesses removed. Groups of horses were led to the stream to be watered, and afterwards each man checked and groomed his mount. Only after the horses’ welfare had been attended to did we ourselves rest and eat a light meal of biscuit and cheese, which had sweated somewhat during the journey. Godarz organised guard rotas as I laid beside a tree, Remus munching grain from a leather nosebag. Once he had finished he came over and sat beside me. Around us men slept as others paced up and down and kept watch.

‘My congratulations, highness. A perfectly executed plan.’

‘Thank you,’ I had to admit that I too was pleased with myself.

‘But you should have killed that Roman.’

In truth I had forgotten about him. ‘I wouldn’t worry about him, they’ve probably executed him for incompetence.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said sternly. ‘He said he was a tribune and that means he is a powerful man, or has powerful friends. He will not forget you.’

‘Really?’ I was unconcerned. He was the last thing on my mind as tiredness swept over me, and I dismissed Godarz so I could get some sleep. All in all it had been a good day, and I said a prayer of thanks to Shamash for protecting me, and hoped Bozan sitting beside him would be pleased at the Roman souls I had offered to him.

We stayed the night there, and in the morning rode south to link up with the main army. We gave Vesuvius a wide berth lest the Romans had sent more cavalry ahead, but in truth we saw no enemy force of any kind, or indeed anyone. The countryside seemed deserted, as it probably was thanks to the spectre of Spartacus. 

We picked up the trail of the army easily enough, a vast swathe of trampled grass and churned-up dirt where thousands of feet and hooves had tramped over it. We too dismounted and walked beside our horses, having first posted outriders to ensure we weren’t surprised by any Roman patrols. The day was sunny and warm, our mood relaxed. The men were flushed with victory and their spirits high. Though my Parthians could speak only a smattering of Latin and many of the Dacians and Thracians among us had only a meagre knowledge of the language, there was nevertheless a lively chatter of sorts among the ranks, accompanied by wild and exaggerated hand signals. I sent Nergal ahead with five men to inform Spartacus of our success. Burebista, Rhesus and Godarz walked with me at the head of the column. Godarz was still unhappy.

‘You should have killed him,’ was all he kept saying. Eventually I had had enough.

‘So you keep telling me, Godarz, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m sure there will be other opportunities.’

‘You can be sure of that,’ he said. ‘Roman pride is not a thing to be dented lightly. He won’t rest until he’s avenged his humiliation.’

‘I wish I had killed him,’ I said. ‘That at least would have shut you up. Take five men and ride ahead, Godarz. Find us a good spot for tonight’s camp.’

He saluted stiffly, mounted his horse and rode off. Burebista laughed.

‘He’s like an old woman.’

‘Godarz is a good man,’ I said, ‘but he worries too much. Not like you, Burebista.’

He spat on the ground. ‘Worry is for women. What is there to worry about? I have a horse, a brave captain to follow,’ he grinned at me, ‘a sword in my hand and an unlimited amount of Romans to kill. To a Dacian, this is heaven.’

We camped that night on a hill overlooking a valley dotted with trees and fields. One of my men brought down a deer with his bow so we skinned and cooked it over a fire. After eating little more than biscuits and sweating cheese washed down with water, we ate the meat with relish. Godarz had found the spot and was, I was happy to discover, in a better mood.

‘Spartacus took the bridge over the Silarus River two days ago,’ he told me while chewing meat from a cooked rib. ‘The army is already in Lucania so we’re safe for the time being. Crixus and his Gauls are holding the bridge. As soon as we’re over, Spartacus is going to tear it down.’

I wondered if Crixus was tempted to destroy the bridge before we got across the river. Perhaps not.

‘Any sign of the Romans?’ I asked.

‘None,’ replied Godarz. He went on to tell me that the people of the town of Eburum, only a couple of miles from the river, had shut the gates and cowered behind their walls. Spartacus had no interest in assaulting the place, though predictably Crixus had wanted to unleash his Gauls against it. Nevertheless, Spartacus had sent parties of men into the countryside to plunder all the crops and livestock they could find. It was a rich haul, as Campania in the autumn was a bountiful place. And new recruits were coming in all the time, herdsmen from the hills and valleys, slaves who worked on Campania’s vast estates, and even slaves who had escaped from the towns and had made their way to Spartacus, for our general’s fame, or infamy depending on one’s point of view, had spread. He had gone from being a minor irritant, a runaway slave who would be taken with ease, to the leader of a rebellion that was threatening to engulf the whole of southern Italy.

We rode to the bridge to find it guarded by dozens of wild-looking Gauls armed with Roman shields and an assortment of weapons ranging from wooden clubs to javelins and swords. Tramping across the bridge was a steady stream of mainly men who had no weapons and who were obviously not soldiers. I dismounted and gave the reins of Remus to Nergal, then strode over to where a large Gaul (they all appeared to be large, even their women; I wondered how the Romans ever managed to defeat them) was berating those crossing the bridge.

‘Get a move on, you sons of whores,’ he bellowed at no one in particular. ‘We can’t wait here forever. If you don’t speed up we’ll leave you here to be nailed to crosses. Now move, or I will do it myself.’

His men were lounging each side of the road, making derogatory comments about the latest recruits to the army. Several of them sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons when they saw me approach. Obviously Crixus had made his dislike of me among his own people well known.

‘Who are these people?’ I asked their leader.

He viewed me warily with cold grey eyes, his dark hair hanging lank around his shoulders. ‘Newly freed slaves, or runaways. Come to join Spartacus. Where are the Romans?’

His discourtesy was almost as repellant as the stink coming from his body, but I ignored his curt manner.

‘We gave them a bloody nose. They won’t be here for a while.’ I looked at the long line of men dressed in rags ambling across the river. ‘We need to get across and report to Spartacus. Clear these people out of the way.’

He laughed. ‘You’ll have to wait, either that or swim across.’

The river was wide and obviously deep. The stone bridge across it had five arches that spanned the dark blue and fast-moving water. I walked up to him and faced him.

‘What is your name, Gaul?’

He grinned, revealing a row of black teeth. ‘Tasgetius, captain under Crixus.’

‘You know who I am?’

His smiled disappeared. ‘The Parthian,’ he sneered.

I reached behind my back and pulled my dagger from its sheath, then whipped it up to his throat.

‘Then you know that Parthians never back down, so move these people aside and let us pass. That is an order.’

By now all the Gauls were on their feet and were ready to hack me into small pieces, but the sight of nearly four hundred arrows pointed at them made them hesitate, for my men had divided into two groups and were in front of the Gauls. They now sat in their saddles with their bows ready to fire. I looked directly at Tasgetius. He blinked first.

‘Of course, Parthian, we have no wish to fight you. We are on the same side, are we not?’ He pointed at one of his men. ‘Move these bastards aside. Let the horsemen pass.’

I withdrew my dagger and nodded at him. ‘My thanks, Tasgetius. I shall inform Spartacus personally of your cooperation.’

I vaulted onto Remus’ back and took his reins from Nergal.

‘Making new friends?’ he said sourly.

‘These Gauls are more trouble than they’re worth,’ I said.

‘Isn’t Gallia a Gaul, highness?’

‘She’s different,’ I said, moving Remus forward as the Gauls manhandled the others aside — I wondered how many were already regretting fleeing from their masters?

‘She certainly is,’ he smiled.

We made it over the bridge and rode across country to the camp, a massive, sprawling collection of tents, makeshift canvas shelters and groups of individuals huddled around campfires.

The camp seemed to fill miles of the pain that stopped at the foot of a large mountain chain that ran from east to west. In my absence the number of those following Spartacus had increased markedly, though I wondered how so many new recruits were going to be trained and armed in time to face the Roman army that had been delayed, but only temporarily. Food seemed less of a problem, for the entire plain was filled with thousands of animals — cattle, pigs, sheep, goats, chickens and oxen, some in ramshackle pens, others tied to carts and many more wandering free over the grass. The whole scene resembled a gigantic market day, which would be a bloody day if any Roman forces happened upon it. I said a prayer to Shamash that they would not. Now I realised the huge responsibility Spartacus had entrusted me with, and was pleased that I had not let him down.