The Parthian (75 page)

Spartacus looked into the sky, which was still filled with tiny swirling flecks of snow. ‘Maybe not. We will attack at night and hopefully the weather will aid us.’

‘The weather?’ Akmon laughed grimly. ‘For all you know it will be still and cloudless and the entire area will be flooded by moonlight.’

‘When do we attack, Spartacus?’ asked Castus.

‘In three days. That should give Pacorus time to get his cavalry into position.’

That night I ate with Spartacus and Claudia, after taking a relaxing bath in the governor’s house in the town and ensuring that Cunobarrus was still in port. He was, enjoying the hospitality of a dingy inn near the harbour that had been requisitioned by a group of Thracians. Though Rhegium had been taken over by the army, its discipline was still impeccable and there had been no looting or wanton destruction. It was a testament to Spartacus that, despite its precarious situation, the army’s cohesion remained intact.

‘Every man still knows that his best chance of staying alive is to stay with this army. I was at fault for trusting that pirate, but there was little choice, and now that option has gone our only hope is to take Rome itself.’

Claudia sat in silence, her eyes avoiding mine. Did she think that our whole venture was now doomed? Spartacus caught me looking at her.

‘Claudia thinks I am mad for wanting to march north once again. What do you think, Pacorus? Speak freely.’

‘You have never failed us, lord,’ I said.

‘A diplomat’s answer,’ said Claudia, looking up and smiling at me. ‘But no answer at all.’

I blushed. ‘We have never been defeated yet, so why should the future be any different?’

‘Why indeed?’ she retorted. ‘Except that armies are flooding into Italy and eventually they will trap us and destroy us.’

‘Are you now general of the army, my love?’ said Spartacus irritably. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘What you should have done weeks ago when we were near the Alps.’

‘We’ve discussed that,’ he snapped. I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I could not leave the army; they wanted me to stay.’

‘No,’ she corrected him, ‘your vanity, the thing you most despise in the Romans, dangled the prospect of glory in front of your nose, and like a spoilt child bribed with a toy you could not refuse. And now we are holed up like pigs in a pen.’

Spartacus jumped to his feet and threw his cup across the tent. ‘Enough! I will not be spoken to thus. I know what I am doing.’

Claudia, her eyes aflame, remained cool and aloof, but her words were like darts aimed at her husband. ‘That is debatable, but it is plain to see that we are now longer free but are dancing to the Romans’ tune, like a tame bear in the market place.’

Spartacus threw up his hands in despair and sat back down on the couch. ‘Then, I say again, what would you have me do? We cannot sprout wings and fly to Sicily.’

Claudia rose and crossed the floor to sit beside him and took his hand. ‘I know, but your mission from now on must be to get this army out of Italy. The longer we stay the less likely the chances of us seeing our homes again. Forget Rome, for the only members of this army who will see Rome will be condemned men.’

‘First we have to get through those Roman defences,’ said Spartacus.

Claudia looked at me and smiled. ‘I think our salvation sits a few feet from us, my dear, for surely the gods have sent Pacorus for just such a purpose.’

Spartacus laughed and went to retrieve his cup. ‘You know, Pacorus, when you first came to us Crixus said that you were just a boy with long hair who would prove as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition.’

‘He was ever the poet,’ I said.

‘I was inclined to agree with him,’ he looked at Claudia, ‘but someone told me that a man on a white horse would come and be our salvation. And so it has proved to be. I am honoured to call you a friend, Pacorus.’

‘And I you, lord.’

Claudia yawned and it was clear that she was tired. I made my excuses and left them alone together, embracing Spartacus and kissing Claudia on the cheek. As I was about to exit the tent, Claudia called after me.

‘You remember your promise to me, Pacorus?’

‘Of course, lady,’ I replied.

As I walked back to the town, past rows of tents and groups of soldiers clustered around braziers, I drew my cloak around me. The wind had abated somewhat and the night sky was clear, though if anything it was colder than when the wind had been blowing. In the distance, overlooking the port, the Roman fortifications and our army, stood the brooding Sila Mountains, great granite mounds covered with vast forests that teemed with game. I stopped and listened intently. Coming from the mountains I thought I heard the howl of a wolf. I hoped it was a good omen.

The trip back to the fishing village was a nightmare — hours of tacking to and fro in a stinking fishing vessel that was being tossed around on a rough sea. There were no snowflakes; rather, icy sleet that the wind threw into our faces and which stung like small needles being driven into my flesh. Cunobarrus spent the entire journey either hurling abuse at Hosidius or taking pleasure at my discomfort. The sea was a cold, ominous grey, occasionally flecked with white when the wind ruffled the top of a wave. Cunobarrus wrapped himself in a disgusting oilskin cape when the sleet increased in intensity. He fished one out from under his bench at the tiller and threw it to me.

‘Better put this on, don’t want you freezing to death, your majesty.’ He grinned to reveal teeth black and infected gums. He was obviously intrigued as to my identity but did not enquire further.

Halfway through the journey the sleet ceased and the wind dropped, and suddenly the boat was pitching and rolling less. My stomach returned to something like normal, and I told Hosidius to serve the food that I had brought with us. Cunobarrus’ eyes lit up as the youth unbuckled the leather bag I had brought aboard, to reveal fresh bread, cheese, fruit, roasted pork and strips of salted beef. Cunobarrus rested his left hand on the tiller as he shoved a piece of pork into his mouth and began gnawing at the meat, stopping occasionally to drink some of the wine that I had also brought aboard.

‘You important, then?’

‘Important?’ I asked.

‘By the way those soldiers treated you back at Rhegium, I’d say you are some sort of leader of theirs.’

‘Idle speculation is such an amusing pastime, is it not?’ I remarked.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘I reckon the Romans would pay a handsome price for you, your lordship.’

I reached down to check that my dagger was still tucked into my boot. It was. ‘You are getting paid well for being a ferryman.’

‘Reckon I could get more from the Romans and keep the gold I’ve already got.’

‘Don’t get greedy, my fisherman friend, it is not an attractive quality.’

He spat some gristle over the side. ‘When you’re poor it is.’

‘How long have you lived in your village?’ I asked him.

‘All my life.’

‘And you have family there?’

‘A wife and two sprats,’ he beamed, ‘and another on the way. Should be here by the summer.’

The thought that any woman could lie with this odious wretch filled me with horror, but I managed to keep down my food.

‘If I fail to return, my men will burn your village and impale every one of its residents. Have you seen anyone being impaled?’

He shook his head.

‘It’s like crucifixion,’ I said, ‘only it’s done with a sharpened stake driven up your arse.’ I took a swig of wine. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t like your family to die a death like that, would you?’

At that moment Hosidius came at me then with lightening speed. For a scrawny little wretch he was quick, lunging at me with a fishhook in his right hand, but I had seen him grab the weapon out of the corner of my eye, and as he lunged I jumped up and grabbed his right arm, then kicked him in the groin. He collapsed in the bottom of the boat where the seawater collected, spluttering face down in the fish guts and water. I drew my dagger and placed the blade next to his throat, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back with my left hand.

‘Please, please,’ said Cunobarrus. ‘He’s not a bad lad, just a bit simple and protective. I didn’t’ mean anything. It’s just the wine talking. I will get you back, no bother. Please.’

I flicked my right wrist and gave Hosidius a small cut next to his windpipe. Not deep, just enough to draw blood and cause him pain. Then I threw the fishhook overboard and shoved him back down in the filth. I went and sat near the bows. ‘You two sit at the stern where I can see you. And don’t say another word until we have finished our journey.’

Two hours later we pitched up on the beach near to the miserable collection of huts that Cunobarrus called home. There to meet us was Godarz, Burebista and a company of the latter’s horsemen. The cavalry filed onto the beach as I marched towards them.

‘Good trip?’ asked Godarz as he handed me the reins of Remus.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I replied, accepting my sword from Burebista and buckling it around my waist. Cunobarrus scuttled up to us.

‘My fee, lord,’ he grovelled. Around us the inhabitants of the village began to gather, the men aged beyond their years by their hard toil, the women ugly and in rags and the children naked and covered in grime. I mounted Remus and ordered Godarz to give me his bag of gold for Cunobarrus.

‘Come and receive your payment, fisherman.’

Cunobarrus grinned to an over-sized woman who had a swollen belly, his wife I assumed, and walked over to me. I held out the bag and he took it, and then I reached down and struck him hard across the face, sending him sprawling on the sand. His wife screamed and waddled over to him.

‘That is for trying to betray me.’ I motioned to Burebista. ‘Make sure all the dwellings are empty and then burn them. Then burn the boats as well.’

There were shouts of protests from the inhabitants, but I was in no mood to debate the issue and my horsemen were armed and menacing.

‘This man,’ I shouted at them, pointing at Cunobarrus, ‘tried to betray me. You are paying the price for his attempted treachery. If you have any protests take them up with him. He has enough gold to rebuild your village and purchase new boats. If you have any sense, you will hang him and his assistant from the nearest tree.’

I watched as Burebista’s men fired the homes and then the boats on the shore, while an angry crowd closed around a wildly gesticulating Cunobarrus.

‘You have ill tidings?’ Godarz was sat on his horse next to me.

It was good to be seated once more upon the muscled frame of Remus. I stroked his neck as the flames consumed the village. ‘Spartacus is going to attempt a breakout and we must attack the Roman lines at the moment he does so.’

‘Makes sense. He can’t stay there forever. And after he has broken out?’

The first of the boats was now aflame on the shore. ‘We are to march on Rome, Godarz, to capture the greatest prize in Italy, perhaps the world.’

The vast pine forests of the Sila Mountains provided ample space and security for the cavalry, with each dragon establishing its own camp in a wide arc whose southern flank was anchored on the Helleporus River. Most of the inhabitants of the region had fled before us, the majority north to Croton and a few poor unfortunates south towards the Roman defence lines. No doubt they would inform the Romans of the great number of strange-looking horsemen who had raided their homes and villages for food, and would thus know of our presence. That is why we had to act fast. Byrd and his trusty scouts were patrolling both north and south and reported no enemy activity thus far, but their inactivity would not last long. On the morning of our departure, I assembled all the company commanders to my temporary command post that consisted of a canvas sheet ceiling fastened between two carts with sides of linen sheets for wind breaks. It was still cold but at least the sun was shining and there was no snow. A round, flat shield resting on boxes sufficed for a table, upon which was spread Godarz’s map. Cooks brought warm wine and hot porridge for those who tramped in, all wearing boots, leggings, tunics and cloaks, with most also sporting fur or felt caps. Godarz stood beside me as I gave my briefing, while across from me Gallia stared intently at the map, her lithe figure wrapped in a blue cloak and her hair cascading around her shoulders. Gafarn stood next to her, but I noticed that the others stood a little apart around her, clearly out of respect. Everyone knew that she was my woman, but they also knew that she was an excellent archer and a good fighter. Word had also spread of her unyielding nature; she had earned her right to be here. 

I looked at their faces. They were Parthians, Spaniards, Thracians, Dacians, Greeks and Germans, all of them young aside from Godarz, and all of them brimming with confidence. It tore at my guts to think that I now had to hurl them against Roman defences. A part of me, I had to admit, wanted to order them to ride north with me, ride beyond the Alps back to my beloved Hatra. But what would posterity think of such an action, and of the man who ordered it? 

‘Listen closely,’ I said. ‘We are going to go through the valley of the Lametus west to the Tyrrhenian coast, then ride south to attack the Romans from behind while our comrades at Rhegium will attack at the same spot from the south. The attack will take place during the hours of darkness to increase our chances of surprise, and hopefully add to the Romans’ confusion. The carts and two companies will remain in the hills of the Lametus until we have freed the army. We will join them once we have escorted the army from Rhegium. Godarz, you will command the force that stays with the carts, and Gafarn, you will keep Godarz company.’

‘I would prefer to ride with you, highness,’ he said.

‘And I would prefer if you obeyed orders, just this once.’

The others laughed.    

‘It is twenty miles through the pass,’ I continued, ‘and another forty to the Roman lines. We leave at midday, rest tonight and then ride south to arrive at the Roman lines at midnight. That is when Spartacus will attack. He cannot break through without our aid; so tell your men to ensure their horses are fed and watered, their bowstrings tight and their quivers full.