The Parthian (56 page)

‘Time to go,’ I said. I waited at the first trees until Nergal and Gafarn had ridden away, then followed them back down the track. Behind us we left twelve chests of gold and hopefully one dead Gaul prince and a slain bearded giant.

Our arrival back at camp was greeted with rapturous cheers. Gallia brought her horse to a halt before my tent, jumped to the ground and hugged a sobbing Diana and hopping Rubi. Next came Claudia, wrapping her arms around all of them, followed by a beaming Spartacus whose massive arms seemed to engulf all four of the woman. Burebista threw a screen of lance-carrying horsemen around the camp lest the Gauls tried to attack us, but none dared approach us. The area around my tent son became a mass of people who wanted to convey their joy at seeing Gallia again. I didn’t realise until that moment how popular she was and how many people must have also fallen in love with her. Then came Praxima and the rest of the women warriors, squealing with joy like a group banshees. Gafarn stood beside me as the din increased and a steady stream of individuals approached to pay their respects.

‘It is good to have her back, highness.’

‘It certainly is. That was good shooting back at the bridge, by the way. I am in your debt.’

‘Of course, your skills with a bow are almost as good as mine.’ He always had a knack of reminding me what a fine shot he was. ‘Do you think the Gauls will attack us?’

I shrugged. ‘They can try, but if they do I will personally burn the king’s berg, and with him inside. Wretched man.’

Gafarn smiled slyly. ‘You do know he will be your father-in-law?’

‘I would prefer to celebrate him as a deceased father-in-law.’

‘No invitation to the palace in Hatra for him, then?’ 

‘No, Gafarn,’ I replied irritably. 

Gafarn did come in useful a while later when I asked him to prise Diana away from Gallia and also asked everyone else to leave us. Later, when Gallia had washed and changed her clothes, we had a meal alone in my tent. I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulder as she tucking into a plate of roasted pork slices and vegetables. 

‘You can let go of me, Pacorus, I won’t run away.’

‘I’m never going to let go of you again. You and your women are to billet in the main camp, just in case your father decides he wants his daughter back.’

She laughed ironically. ‘He never wanted me, and was glad enough to get rid of me when he could.’

‘Why does he dislike you so?’

‘Because I remind him of my mother.’

She saw the confused look on my face. ‘Soon after I was born my mother died, I was told because the birth had been long and painful. With her died any feelings of affection my father may have had for me. He is a very unhappy man.’

‘He will be unhappier now that one his sons has been killed.’ I looked at her. ‘For that I am sorry.’

She laid her hand on mine. ‘Do not be sorry, my love, you came for me when I needed you most. But I fear you are right. Rage and my father are close companions. He hates the Romans, and for that I admired him. But he dreamed of a land free of them where he would be high king of all the tribes of Gaul this side of the Alps. But that dream gnawed away at him when he realised that it was just that, a dream. Like I told you before, they are a beaten people.’

Fat dripped onto my tunic as I picked up a slice of pork with my knife. ‘Perhaps with the gold he now has he can unite the tribes.’

She looked at me with those piercing blue eyes that seemed capable of reading all my thoughts. ‘Oh, Pacorus, you and my father would make good allies. You are both dreamers, but in his case his dreams are dangerous fantasies. The Gauls in Italy are slaves in all but name. Ever since I can remember, all I heard about was the Romans flooding into the valley of the Padus.’

‘The Padus?’

‘That is the name the mighty river that flows through the middle of the land between the Apennines and the Alps. You have seen for yourself how the Romans drain the land, cut down the trees and build roads and settlements. This is not a new thing; it has been going on for decades. But under the new governor of Mutina it has got worse. And all the time the Gauls, my people, are pushed into the hills and forests like hunted beasts, huddled in their villages dreaming of a time that is long gone.’ She sighed. ‘My father is eaten away with bitterness, like all people who want something they know they can never have.’

‘I almost feel sorry for him.’

Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t. He is dangerous still and we are not yet out of his reach.’

I smiled. ‘What can he do against the might of our army?’

We found out five days later. The army had struck camp and had moved directly north, through a land full of Roman villages, farms and neat, white-walled villas, a land divided into square fields and criss-crossed by irrigation ditches. Our route took us to within ten miles of the city of Mutina, but Spartacus saw no need to attack it as we could actually bypass it with ease. I had Byrd and his scouts riding on each flank and to our front, for we knew that the city’s garrison comprised two legions, though not if it would attempt to intercept us. I myself doubted it, for our army now numbered fifty thousand men plus assorted women who had come with their husbands or who had run away from their masters on their own. I had no idea how many they totalled, but Godarz had complained to me that there were at least five thousand of them, ‘all mouths we have to feed’. I told him that they kept the men happy, and a happy man is one who fights better. He was unconvinced by my argument, I think, but he was right about the food. Most days at least a third of my horse, a thousand men, undertook foraging duties, which in this fertile region was an easy task. We either looted Roman settlements for their grain or livestock, or helped ourselves to the abundant deer and boar that inhabited the forests. Indeed, I encouraged company commanders to hunt animals with their bows because it was good archery practice. Though we were always mindful not to stray too far into the trees as the Gauls still watched us.

‘I can’t see them,’ I remarked to Gallia one day as we were riding five miles from the army’s left flank along with three hundred of Burebista’s men.

‘They’re there,’ she replied, ‘they watch us all the time.’

I glanced at the thick oaks that spread as far as the eye could see to our left and shuddered. No doubt King Ambiorix would pay a high price in gold for me being taken alive so he could extract a slow and terrible revenge.

It was just after dawn on the fifth day, as the army was breaking camp, when Byrd and two of his men galloped through its northern entrance and halted in front of my tent, for now all of us took shelter in the main camp. His men were the eyes and ears of the army, scruffy men on scraggy horses but individuals who were like the wild boars that populated these parts. They could smell trouble without seeing an enemy and were each worth a company of cavalry. Godarz was always complaining about their appearance, the condition of their horses and their insubordination towards him when he rebuked Byrd or any of his men.

‘They are a law unto themselves, lord, and they should be under proper military discipline.’

‘Ordinarily I would agree with you,’ I replied. ‘But they carry out an invaluable task and while they are undertaking that to my satisfaction I will overlook their more eccentric traits.’

And once again they had proved their worth. The sun was a yellow fireball in the east as Byrd drank greedily from a waterskin and then gave the rest to his sweating horse.

‘Romani army ten miles to the north, blocking our way.’

Thirty minutes later we were at a council of war, sitting on stools in the centre of Akmon’s camp that was being steadily dismantled and packed away, a pall of dust hanging over the whole are as men packed tents into wagons, hauled their packs onto their backs, and sweated and cursed as their commanders got them into marching order. Trumpets sounded as centuries and cohorts were formed up and roll calls taken, while Spartacus drew patterns in the parched ground with the tip of his
gladius
.

He looked up at Byrd. ‘How many?’

‘My men count two eagles yesterday.’

‘That’s the garrison of Mutina, then,’ said Rhesus.

Castus slapped me on the back. ‘Two legions! Is that all that faces us. We will swallow them up.’

‘Others with Romani,’ added Byrd.

Akmon frowned. ‘What others?’

‘Gauls. They fill the land all around Romani camp with their warriors. Many thousands.’

A line of wagons pulled by mules trundled behind us, the muffled sound of their wheels mixing with the clanking of the pots and tools that hung from their sides, while their drivers shouted and cursed the animals to move more quickly. A pointless exercise when dealing with the most stubborn beasts in the world.

Spartacus stood up and sheathed his sword. ‘So, it would appear that the Gauls have formed an alliance with their Roman overlords and intend to crush us. If we continue our march we will have to fight them on ground of their choosing. But if we do not fight them, we will have to find another way north, which will delay us many more days.’

‘What are your orders, lord?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘We fight them.’

Chapter 13

T
hree hours later we marched into a wide plain surrounded by gently undulating hills. Once it must have been filled with trees, but years of Romanisation had produced a landscape of neat fields and farmsteads as far as the eye could see. But one sight that dominated the horizon was a mass of men formed into a long line to our front. Earlier I had ridden in the vanguard of the army with Byrd and a hundred horsemen, and had seen at first hand the size of the army that bared our way. By mid-morning it was already forming into a long line across the horizon, mail-clad Romans in cohorts and armoured and bare-chested Gauls carrying shields, axes, spears and long swords. We had been spotted almost immediately and a group of Roman horsemen galloped out from the enemy lines, men carrying large red circular shields and armed with lances. They came at us in a column of three abreast and then formed into line some distance from us, lowering their lances in expectation of a fight at close quarters. But I gave the signal to retreat and we cantered away from them. I took up position at the rear of our group, and as the Romans got nearer I and a few other Parthians began firing at them over the hindquarters of our horses. This was a tactic they had obviously never encountered before, because when half a dozen of their saddles had been emptied they slowed their pace and then stopped as we carried on our retreat.

When we reached the army I immediately told Spartacus what I had seen.

‘They obviously intend to fight us,’ I reported. ‘Byrd was right about the number of legions, but I’ve never seen so many Gauls gathered in one place.’

Spartacus, as usual, was marching on foot with Claudia and Akmon in the midst of his Thracians.

‘Well, as they have been so kind as to gather all in one place, it would be rude not to accommodate them.’ He grinned at me. ‘Besides, killing them now will save us the effort of doing it later.’

‘I’m sure they are thinking the same thing,’ mused a grim-faced Akmon, whose mood always darkened before any battle.

It was noon when our army began to form up in their battle positions. I threw a screen of horsemen to the front of the foot to deter the enemy from interfering with our movements, but the Romans and their allies made no moves. Byrd reported that there was a large ditch that secured the enemy’s right flank, and when I rode over to see it for myself I realised that it would stop any attempt by my cavalry to outflank the enemy from that direction. The ditch was wide — about thirty feet — and had sheer sides. It must have been at least ten feet deep and ran arrow-straight into the distance; obviously the commander of the Roman legions, the governor of Mutina (I assumed that no Gaul would have the intellect to think of such a thing) had a well-thought out battle plan. He had anchored his right flank on an obstacle that was impossible to cross, but what about his left flank? Byrd and I rode along the gap between the two armies, that piece of killing ground that belonged to no one but which would soon be full of dead and the wounded. We made sure that we were out of enemy bow range, though a group of their slingers tried their luck when we cantered past, loosing small lead pellets that fortunately whistled by us harmlessly. From the ditch to where the two Roman legions were forming up was a distance of around two miles and was filled wholly by Gauls, and in front of where they stood in groups or sat on the ground were wooden stakes over six feet in length that had been driven into the ground and angled towards our army, the ends of which appeared from a distance to have been sharpened to points. In fact, the whole of the Gaul battle line was protected by several rows of these stakes. In the centre of the enemy line stood the Roman legions, deployed side by side. They each presented a front line of four cohorts, so I assumed that each legion was deployed in a standard three-line formation. The Roman legions together covered around half a mile of front. As we rode past the Romans we discovered yet more Gauls, this time on the enemy’s left wing, thousands of them in groups, again standing behind rows of sharpened wooden stakes, and again they covered a distance of around two miles. The enemy front thus measured nearly five miles. It was the largest army I had seen in Italy; indeed, it was the largest army I had seen in my life.

I told all this to the council of war who sat on stools in the shade beside a wagon filled with cooking utensils. While the army deployed, the wagons, mules, carts, oxen and non-combatants were being positioned in its rear. The wagons and carts were arranged in a square to form a sort of barrier, behind which the animals could be secured and the army’s supplies and spare weapons could be stored. This makeshift camp was guarded by around five hundred soldiers, usually men who were too old to fight in a century but who still knew how to use a sword or a spear. If the army was defeated then the enemy would make short work of them, but it comforted us all to know that they were guarding our rear. I had wanted to use Gallia’s women as camp guards as well, but she steadfastly refused, saying that she would rather die in battle than wait to be raped and then killed if we were beaten, so that was that. Any walking wounded were also detailed to act as camp guards. The day was warm and getting warmer, and already the men in their centuries and cohorts were using up the contents of their water bottles. A steady stream of water carts were making their way to and from the river that we had crossed three miles to the rear to replenish our supplies on what would be a very thirsty day. The cavalry had its own carts, which were also making the trip to and from the watercourse, though two-thirds of my horsemen were still at the river watering their mounts. There would be plenty of time to bring them forward before the fighting started.