Peter Darman - The Parthian

Gafarn clapped his hands. ‘That is excellent. Prince Pacorus says it is up to you and you say it is up to him. So in effect no one has to make a decision.’ He jabbed a finger at me. ‘You must decide, otherwise we might as well put our chains back on. At least the Romans seem to be able to make decisions.’ His freedom had made him more impertinent than ever. Nevertheless, his words stung me into action. I rose to my feet.

‘Very well. We are in southern Italy and have no means by which to leave this land by the sea. It appears that our best chance is to head north with Spartacus to leave Italy after crossing the Alps. Thereafter we can head east into lands not ruled by the Romans, and then to the Black Sea and Pontus, and thence home. But before we can do that, doubtless we will have to fight the Romans. But that is what we do: fight Romans. They are the enemy and we are soldiers, and it is the duty of every soldier to fight his enemy. This Spartacus wants cavalry, and we are the best cavalry in the world. So we stay and we fight. That is my decision.’

There was a brief moment of silence, then they rose and began cheering and embracing each other. I was happy enough, for now I would have a chance to avenge Bozan and perhaps wipe the shame of my capture. Shamash forgive me, but I also craved glory for myself. That was hopefully in the future, but for now my ambition was to kill Romans and lay their land to waste. Was that evil? I did not think so. They were my enemy and here I was, in their heartland. The Romans wanted to put me in chains and treat me like a dog. Well, this dog was going to bite back.

We ate breakfast in silence, though some of the men smiled at me when I caught their eye. I smiled back. We were a band of brothers in an alien land and I was glad to be in their company. I hoped that they were glad of mine. I still had their trust and respect, I knew that now. I was determined to retain them. I must confess that I was growing fond of the Roman food that was available to us. The former slaves had plentiful supplies of milk from their herds of goats that thronged the slopes of Vesuvius outside of the camp, and Gafarn had spent many an hour while I was lying in my tent recuperating talking to all and sundry about everyday matters. He came back each afternoon with a wealth of information. The country we were in was bountiful in foodstuffs, unlike the barren wastes of much of Hatra, aside from the fertile valleys of the Euphrates and Tigris. Spartacus was generous with his rations. I quickly regained my strength on a diet of broad beans, lentils and chickpeas, lettuces, cabbages and leeks, and fruits such as apples, pears, wild cherries, plums, grapes, walnuts, almonds and chestnuts. Gafarn told me that some of the best wines of Italy came from the region where we were located, which was called Campania, and one evening we were treated to a drink of wine mixed with honey, which the Romans called mulsum. It was wondrous to taste. Aside from porridge, which certainly provided good ballast for the stomach, my favourite dish was named dulca domestica, a delicious concoction of pitted dates stuffed with dried fruit, nuts, cake crumbs and spices, the whole soaked in fruit juice.

I went to see Spartacus after breakfast.

I found him watching what must have been at least a hundred men being instructed in the use of the sword and shield, each of them paired, jabbing and parrying with wooden swords and Roman shields. The instructors who were watching lambasted any that tried an overhead stabbing motion. Each Instructor carried an accursed cane, and wasn’t afraid to use it. They screamed over and over at their charges. ‘Keep your shield close by your side, never over-extend your sword arm, stab your sword forward, never slash, better to stick an enemy with the point than cut him with the side of the blade, you only need to stick two or three inches of steel into him to put him down.’ Spartacus stood like a rock, arms folded, watching the scene. He wore no expression on his iron-hard face, though as I neared him I saw that his eyes were darting to and fro, observing the pairs closely. The instructors shouted encouragement, urging individuals to speed up their movements to find an opening in the opponent’s defence. The spring day was growing hot and I could see great sweat patches on the backs of the men’s tunics. The dull thud of wood striking wood echoed across the flat ground; with the occasional shout as a stick found a fleshy target. I walked up and stood next to him, both of us watching the mock combats spread out before us. His grey eyes were fixed on the practice being carried out.

‘You have reached a decision.’

‘We have decided to stay, lord,’ I said.

I thought I saw a flicker of a smile on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a stony stare. ‘If they catch you again, they will crucify you. There will be no mercy the second time around.’

‘I’ve seen Roman mercy, such as it is,’ I replied. ‘I have no desire to stay in this country, and I believe you are our best chance of my men seeing Hatra again.’

He turned to look at me, and then offered me his hand. ‘There will be much hard fighting before you do. But I am glad that you are with us.’

I clasped his rock-hard forearm in salute, and then he gestured for me to follow him as he walked away from the training.

‘We’re fortunate that most of those coming in are herdsmen and shepherds, men used to hard living in the hills. This lot,’ Spartacus gestured towards the men practicing with swords and shields, ‘will be ready in two or three months. But we need many more if we are to fight our way north.’

As we walked, he told me of how the gladiators had taken refuge in the crater of Vesuvius, and how they had raided local farms for food and weapons. They had gained some recruits, but both slaves and citizens had shied away from what they assumed were just another group of bandits whom the authorities would soon deal with. The arrival of three thousand legionaries from the garrison of Rome seemed to confirm their imminent destruction. But the Romans had underestimated their foe and though they had erected a palisade they had failed to build a wooden wall on top of it. Moreover the gladiators had attacked first, which caught the Romans by surprise. The result was slaughter and the capture of three thousand sets of arms and armour, plus all their camp equipment, food, cattle, horses and wagons. But an even greater boon was the boost the victory gave to recruitment. Suddenly hundreds of former slaves thronged to Vesuvius, and more were coming in each day. Spartacus now had some four thousand men.

‘How many cavalry?’ I asked.

‘How many men have you got?’ he asked.

‘Just over two hundred.’

‘Then we have two hundred horsemen.’

This was the size of two Parthian companies, which was totally inadequate for anything more than a contingent of scouts.

‘We will need more,’ I said. ‘How many horses do you possess?’

‘Fifty, plus four hundred mules. Though I can’t give you all the horses, as I promised Crixus and Castus that they would have horses for them and their officers. Which leaves thirty horses for your cavalry.’ He could see the disappointment in my face. ‘Do not worry. There are plenty of horses in these parts.’

I was unconvinced but hoped he was right. I had seen one wild herd myself and assumed there would be others, but I knew that Roman armies were composed mainly of infantry, and as Spartacus had been trained by the Romans then his lack of cavalry did not concern him unduly.

‘I must leave you now. Tonight we will slaughter a bull and have a feast to celebrate your decision. My wife is keen to meet you.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘Your wife?’

‘Till tonight, my friend.’ With that he was gone.