Peter Darman - The Parthian

Gallia ran into the bedchamber and screamed in anguish as the doctor poured water into a bowl on the table and splashed it on his face. Akmon buried his head in his hands and began to weep silently. I walked slowly into the bedchamber where Diana held the newborn babe. Spartacus stood beside the bed looking down at his dead wife who lay still and covered with a blanket. Gallia, knelt beside the bed, was rocking to and fro and sobbing. It was the first time I had seen her cry. I knelt beside her and placed me arm round her shoulders but she was inconsolable, tears coursing down her cheeks. I looked at the face of Claudia, now serene and its beauty restored. Spartacus was like a statue, his face displaying no emotion as he looked at the lifeless body of his wife. Behind him, Diana held the babe wrapped in its swaddling clothes.

‘Do you wish to hold your son, lord,’ she said, offering the boy to Spartacus. There were no tears in her eyes, just a face that was a mask of determination

He turned slowly to look at his son, who looked at his father with blue eyes. Spartacus slowly extended his right hand so the baby could grasp one of his thick fingers. He kissed the boy gently on his head, cupped Diana’s face with his palm and then walked from the chamber. As the tears welled in my eyes I looked at Diana.

‘What happened?’

‘She haemorrhaged badly after she gave birth. Her life just drained away and there was nothing the doctor could do.’

I wiped the tears from my eyes and gently lifted Gallia to her feet.

‘We must be strong for Spartacus’ sake,’ I whispered to her. ‘Come, let us attend to his son.’

I led Gallia out of the bedchamber as Diana followed with the baby. I went outside the tent and told the guards to spread the word that a wet nurse was needed urgently. Hopefully one could be found among the hundreds of women who were still with the army. The valley was filled with pale early morning light, though everywhere was grey, cold and wet and it was still raining, though not with the intensity of the previous night’s violent storm, but a steady, heavy drizzle that was soaking everything. The river, which the day before had been a shallow, gently flowing watercourse, was now a raging torrent of brown water that separated me from my cavalry which was camped on the other side. Then I saw Spartacus walking slowly down the central avenue of the camp, away from his tent. I went inside the tent and retrieved my sword and fastened it to my belt. I walked after him, the going slow on the ground made soft with rainwater. I caught up with him after a hundred paces or so. He was bare headed, a shield held on his left and a sword in his right hand.

‘Where are you going, lord?’

‘To join my wife.’

‘Why don’t you come back to the tent, lord. Your son needs you.’

He stopped and looked at me, his eyes full of despair.

‘Without Claudia I am nothing and do not wish to go through this life without her by my side. You made her a promise. Do you keep to it, Pacorus?’

‘You know that I do, lord.’

He began walking again. ‘Then keep your word.’

With horror I realised that he was going to fight the Romans on his own. I ran back to the tent, shouting at anyone within earshot to sound assembly. Trumpets began sounding.

‘Akmon, assemble the army. Spartacus intends to fight the Romans on his own. He wishes to die.’

Akmon at first did not realise what I was saying, he was still gripped by grief, but then sprang to his feet as my words sunk in. I grabbed Gafarn by the shoulder.

‘Stay here and look after Gallia and Diana. The river is swollen, you won’t be able to get back across it. If the worst happens, get to the hills. I will find you.’

I kissed Gallia and then raced outside. All around me disorientated and tired men were forming up into their centuries. I saw Domitus hitting a man with his vine cane.

‘Get your helmet on, and look sharp.’

I walked over to him. ‘What is happening, sir?’

I pulled him to one side. ‘Claudia died giving birth. I believe Spartacus wants to get himself killed.’

‘Ill tidings indeed, sir. I am truly sorry’

Around us centuries were forming up to form a cohort in column formation.

‘Follow me, Domitus. We have to protect Spartacus.’

I paced away south, to follow my lord and no doubt die by his side. Behind me Domitus barked his orders and his cohort followed at double pace. Akmon joined me, shield in hand.

‘It will take hours to get the army assembled,’ he said. ‘You keep Spartacus alive in the meantime.’

Around me hundreds of men were donning mail shirts and helmets and falling in, while centurions, hungry and wet, were screaming orders and taking out their misery and frustration on those they commanded. In every army it was ever thus. Akmon paced away to speak to a knot of officers, while in front of me the solitary figure of Spartacus walked steadily towards the enemy.

The Romans had built two camps, one on each side of the river, and they were located around a mile south of where our army was positioned. My scouts had kept a close eye on them since they had arrived, but thus far they had made little attempt to interfere with us. Today, however, as I ran after Spartacus in an attempt to catch him up before he reached the Roman lines, I saw that there were parties of legionaries digging some sort of ditch several hundred feet in front of their camp. They obviously intended to repeat the tactics they had used at Rhegium. They were wrapped in their red cloaks in the rain as they hacked at the mud with entrenching tools. I caught up with Spartacus and walked beside him.

‘I think this is ill-advised, lord.’

‘Then go back,’ he said, cutting the air right to left with his sword.

‘I cannot let you fight them alone, lord. Why should you have all the glory?’

He laughed grimly. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Everyone dies, but I would prefer to do so at a time and in a manner of my own choosing.’

The Roman party to our front, about a dozen legionaries, had spotted us walking towards them and had dropped their entrenching tools, and were picking up their shields and drawing their swords. We were now about two hundred yards from them.

‘Last chance to save yourself, Pacorus.’

‘I will not desert you, lord.’

‘Then I who am about to die salute you, Pacorus, prince of Parthia.’

I quickly looked behind me and saw the cohort of Domitus marching towards us, though too far away to reach us before we ran into the party of Romans to our front. I said a silent prayer to Shamash for a good death as Spartacus suddenly sprang forward, screaming at the top of his voice. I pulled my dagger from my boot with my left hand, then drew my spatha and raced after him as the Roman soldiers likewise charged, no doubt in anticipation of an easy victory. Spartacus literally hurled himself at the first Roman, smashing his shield boss into the man’s chest and thrusting his sword deep into his neck. He extracted the blade as the second legionary came at Spartacus with his sword low, ready to deliver a mortal upwards thrust into his groin or chest, but my lord and former gladiator was too quick for him, and merely leapt aside as the Roman stabbed air, then died as he passed Spartacus who reversed his sword and ran it hard into the man’s back. A third Roman came at me and tried to kill me using an overhead stabbing action. I deflected the blow with my spatha and then thrust my dagger around the edge of his shield and into his right armpit. He screamed and dropped his sword, then collapsed on the ground, clutching at the wound. I left him there as another Roman swung wildly at me with his sword, missed and then tripped over his wounded comrade and sprawled face down on the ground. I put the heel of my boot on the back of his neck and rammed my spatha through his spine. He never got up.