Chapter 15
I often thought of that summer’s day, the day when we had seemed invincible. We would march south, attack Rome itself perhaps, cower our enemies into submission and treat Italy as if she were our plaything. Everything seemed possible. Even my fellow Parthians had become intoxicated by victory and believed themselves to be immortal. Nergal, loyal Nergal, forgot about Hatra and could think only of sweeping Romans before him with the wild-haired Praxima riding beside him. He and his company commanders drank and boasted of how they had destroyed the armies of Rome. Burebista dreamed of leading his Dacians into Rome and torching the city, and thereafter laying a host of captured legionary eagles in the great forum itself. How the Romans diminished in size at the end of that summer; whereas our legions stood as titans astride the Roman world, and the mightiest titan of all was Spartacus, our general. Our undefeated leader who had become like a god to many of our troops. And in the intoxication of victory all thoughts of crossing the Alps disappeared. The truth was that in our desire to reach northern Italy no one had thought of how we would actually cross the mountains, and once over them what route we would travel. It mattered not now, for the undefeated army was not dissolving but was going to inflict further torments on the enemy.
We marched south in high spirits, wanting the Romans to fight us again so we could defeat them once more. The battles that we had fought, brutal bouts that had been long, bloody affairs, in the minds of many became easy routs that were over in a matter of minutes. How the memory quickly erases reality and blocks out unpleasantness. We marched west and then south, sweeping down the east coast of Italy, making use once more of well-engineered Roman roads. I got restless marching with the army, which for the cavalry involved guarding the flanks, covering the rear and scouting ahead for any signs of the enemy. All very important tasks, but ones that could be done by a handful of horsemen and not hundreds. Trudging along on foot, amidst a constant cloud of fine dust thrown up by thousands of people and animals, with our horses beside us, was both boring and irritating. The army, strung out over many miles, barely covered ten miles a day, and my mood darkened considerably when Godarz informed me that Sicily was around four hundred miles away. He was in his element, of course, organising columns of march, being kept informed daily of food supplies, the quantity of spare horse shoes, the number of sick animals, allocating teams to drive and repair carts and wagons, and all the other myriad of duties that were essential to keep the army functioning. His staff of clerks and quartermasters grew.
‘Organisation is a necessary evil, Pacorus,’ he reminded me.
It was early, just after dawn, and he had barely finished briefing his subordinates on the coming day's march, which would begin in three hours following the dismantling of the massive camp in which everyone slept during the night, even my cavalry. I was visiting him because Nergal had complained to me that he had commandeered two of his companies of horse archers to hunt down wild boar for food, and another company to plunder the countryside of any cattle they came upon.
‘That may be, but my men are not farmers, Godarz, to be set gathering the harvest.’
He handed me a piece of bread and cheese. The cheese was strong and firm, the bread appeared freshly baked.
‘No, they are not, but at the moment they and their horses do nothing but eat rations. Might as well have them doing something useful to earn their keep.’
‘You should have asked me first.’
‘And what would you have said?’
‘I would have agreed with you.’
He grinned. ‘Excellent! Please inform Nergal of your decision.’
‘I would prefer that you speak to me first before you send my cavalry out on food-gathering expeditions.’
‘This may come as a surprise to you,’ he remarked, stiffly, ‘but men and horses eat a lot of food, as do princes and their betrothed. It is quite amazing how much Gallia and her women consume. Looking at their frames you would never think so.’
‘That may also be, but get my permission first.’
But he was right, of course, and during the next few days I agreed that more horsemen should be sent out to undertake foraging duties. Byrd and his men were riding far and wide, and I only saw him occasionally. I decided that I too would partake of a little scouting, and selected a hundred men from my dragon. I told Spartacus that I was going to spread a little terror among the Romans. He was walking as usual, like a common soldier, with Claudia beside him. It always struck me as strange that they did not ride, but then he said that he preferred to fight on his two feet as he had done in the Roman Army, in the arena and now as a free man.
‘You should try it some time.’
‘I did try it, when we killed Gallia’s father. I found it limiting. In any case, Parthians prefer to fight on horseback, lord.’
‘That's because if things turn badly they can flee faster than everyone else,’ quipped Akmon, mischievously.
‘Only the enemies of Parthia flee,’ I reminded him.
‘Ha. You hear that Spartacus. There speaks a man whose homeland has never been touched by the enemy’s sword.’ Akmon looked at me. ‘I used to think that, but the Romans taught me otherwise.’
‘That’s very glum, Akmon,’ said Claudia, ‘and it’s such a nice day.’
Akmon spat, looked at the sky and shrugged. It was a pleasant day, true enough, though Claudia appeared exceptionally happy today. Gallia and Diana had joined me and they were walking either side of her, the mad Rubi, in a world of her own, trailing in their wake. I noticed that she kept glancing at Spartacus, who smiled back at her like a naughty boy. Most strange.
‘Why don't you tell them?’ he said. ‘They are our friends, after all.’
Claudia blushed, and then linked arms with Gallia and Diana. ‘I’m pregnant.’
They kissed and embraced her, while I offered my hand to Spartacus. ‘That is truly wondrous news, lord. My congratulations.’ Rubi jumped up and down in delight, though she knew not why.
He slapped me hard on the shoulder, almost knocking me over. ‘Thank you, Pacorus.’
‘When is the birth?’ asked Gallia.
‘Spring next year,’ replied Claudia, embracing Diana who had tears in her eyes.
The news of Claudia’s pregnancy spread like wildfire throughout the army and its morale soared accordingly. It was reckoned a good omen, for the son of Spartacus would be an even mightier warrior than his father, and would surely be blessed by the gods. Whether that was true or not, that autumn the whole army seemed to be blessed. We raided far and wide, often reaping a rich haul, for this was harvest time when vineyards yielded grapes for central Italy’s crop of red wines, and olive groves heaved with fruit. The country estates teemed with slaves who were stripping grapes from their vines, carrying them in baskets to the end of each row of trees and then heaving them into carts. I took Gallia with me as part of my company. She had wanted to lead her women to make up another party but I forbade her. I had visions of her and her women being ambushed, raped and then crucified and the thought terrified me. So I said she could accompany me but that her women must stay with the army. I even increased the number of men who rode with me to two hundred to ensure her safety, and also made sure that they were the best archers and swordsmen in my dragon.
The countryside of central Italy was beautiful that autumn, with misty olive groves interwoven with rows of cypresses and vineyards covering gently undulating hills. And always in the background were the mountains with their lush alpine meadows, streams and tracts of savage wilderness. Nearer the coast were thick forests and marshland, the woodlands filled with wild boar and wolves. We camped hidden in the trees at night, and in the dawn light visited fire and sword upon unsuspecting towns and villages. It was easy enough. Two of Byrd's scouts accompanied us, and on their mangy horses they would ride to a habitation the previous day, taking note of any walls or barriers that might impede our assault. Frequently there were none; indeed, often there was no official Roman presen
ce at all. The cities and big towns had their walls and garrisons, but we weren’t interested in those. We killed any overseers we came across when we raided the large agricultural estates and freed the slaves, giving them directions to the army. Whether any made the journey or merely fled to the hills and woods and became bandits, I do not know. When we attacked we came out of the pre-dawn mist, my huge scarlet banner with its white horse’s head billowing behind me. We carried flaming torches that we tossed into carts, barns and haystacks. We killed only those who offered resistance. Most fled for their lives, clutching a few possessions with some mothers holding infants at their breasts. These we let live. Occasionally a group of men, perhaps veterans who had been granted land by a grateful Roman senate, made a stand against us – a ragged line of men with cracked shields, no helmets and rusty swords and old spears for weapons. They remembered their legionary training well enough, but had no answer to our speed and arrows. We rode round and behind them and shot them to pieces. We torched villas, farms and staging posts for the Roman mail system, always scouring for gold and silver before we did so. We collected a tidy sum of both. But I got bored of striking easy targets and so we ventured towards towns, raiding Luna, Faesulae, Ad Fines, Ad Novas, Vepete and Sahate. I often sent half a dozen riders to the main gates and had them hurl insults at the guards. Then the gates would open and a detachment of riders would gallop out to apprehend them. But my men were merely the bait, and over the crest of a hill or hidden among trees we would be waiting, and the Romans would fall into the trap and would be slaughtered to a man. Or we would burn a large villa, then conceal ourselves and wait for the nearest garrison, who would see the tall columns of black smoke billowing into the sky, to send troops to investigate. And when they arrived we would cut them down from our hiding place with arrows, or charge them on horseback, screaming and yelling. The shock momentarily froze them to the spot, giving us just enough time to reach them and hack them down with our swords before they had chance to organise themselves into formation.
One of the scouts reported that the city of Arretium, located on a steep hill beside the floodplain of the River Arno, had walls that were half demolished. A local had told him that they had been destroyed during a civil war and had not been repaired. There were four gates into the city, located at the four points of the compass, but on the southern side the walls had been torn down after an army had stormed and sacked it. They had not been repaired. Instead, the masonry had been plundered to erect new dwellings that now stood outside of the original circuit. A rampart of earth had been erected around these new homes with the purpose of building a new wall to encompass the city’s overspill, but the rampart stood neglected. The city authorities had grown lax; but then, they were in the centre of Italy and what threat was nearby?
We camped around five miles from Arretium, in a wooded gully through which ran a stream of fast-flowing, ice-cool water. We lay up during the day and rested. Two hours before dusk, after we had eaten a meal of biscuit and fruit, I gathered everyone in a semi-circle.
‘We ride tonight and attack before dawn.’ I looked at the scout who had visited Arretium, a tall, wiry man in his late twenties with black eyes and an evil grin. His name was Diaolus and he was a Greek. No one knew anything about him except that he had been a slave, but had lived as a bandit before he had joined Byrd’s men. He spoke Latin well and had not been branded, as far as I could tell. I believed he had some sort of an education, but he resisted all attempts to extract information from him.
‘The gates have guards, but they are not always closed at night. The soldiers are fat and lazy and are only interested in bribes.’ He cast a glance at Gallia. ‘And women.’
‘How large is the garrison?’ I asked.
He threw up his hands. ‘Maybe one cohort.’
‘That is more than we are,’ said one of my officers.
Diaolus smiled. ‘But they are lazy cowards and you are warriors.’
‘And you are sure about the earth rampart?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘It is nothing more than a large tussock. It is no barrier at all’
‘Very well,’ I said, ‘that will be our way in. We ride in fast, hit them hard and get out quickly. No bravado, no loitering and no getting into fights. We burn, we kill, we leave.’
Before we left we checked and re-checked weapons, straps on the horses and then the animals themselves, especially their iron shoes. After night had fallen we walked for the first three miles of the journey, moving through waist-high grass, along dirt tracks and through trees. There was no moon and at first it was difficult to follow Diaolus. After a while, though, our eyes grew more accustomed to the night and three hours later we reached the paved road that led to Arretium. The smooth, perfectly dressed flagstones seemed to exude a ghostly glow in the dark, showing us the way to our target. We mounted our horses and rode them on the verge, for the horse shoes on the paving stones would make a racket loud enough to raise the dead. We rode in silence to the city, swinging away from the road half a mile from its walls. Moving parallel to the stone defences, we were soon at the gap in the masonry that Diaolus had spoken of. He had not exaggerated. The wall was missing for at least half a mile, the glow from the night lamps and from buildings within providing an illuminated backdrop. I saw the mound, a gently rising heap of earth, in front of which stood a motley collection of poorly constructed dwellings, hovels in truth. In the east the first rays of dawn were emerging over the high Apennines in the distance, making the clouds glow red and yellow. Soon the city folk would be stirring. It was time to wake them up.
Arretium burned fiercely that morning. Firebrands soaked in pitch were tossed into homes and shops as we rode through the city’s streets. Like all Roman towns it was arranged in the form of a grid system, with streets laid out at right angles to each other. The two main streets ran north-to-south and east-to-west, and where they met was where the Romans placed the forum, around which were clustered shops and other businesses. They may have been made of stone, but the buildings had wooden balconies and the shops wooden shutters, and all these things burned brightly once we had fired them. And then the panic and screaming began. Once fires are raging fear grips people, and soon they were blindly running around seeking sanctuary. They instinctively flocked to the temples that fronted one side of the forum. I never reached into my quiver once when we were inside the city, for all I saw were unarmed civilians. And they were already dying, from smoke, from flames, from being trampled to death in the panic. Dogs with broken legs limped into view whimpering, mules ran around in a frenzied state with their sides seared by flames, and all the time the fires spread.
Gallia halted beside me on a main street just off the forum, and pulled off her helmet as terror-stricken individuals raced past us to reach the temples. Two of my men were on the other side of the street, shooting arrows at anyone unlucky enough to be within range. Gallia looked on in horror as one of their arrows struck a woman in the back. She was carrying a baby in her arms. She pitched forward onto the ground as the arrow struck her, the baby disappearing under the feet of the desperate mob.
‘Enough!’ I screamed at them, but in the din they did not even hear me.
Others among my men, scenting an easy kill akin to a wolf slaughtering a lamb, were gripped by blood lust and began riding in groups into the forum and hacking around them with their swords.
‘Stay close, and put your helmet back on,’ I shouted to Gallia and rode into the forum.
I had seen enough. I ordered the trumpeter to sound withdrawal, and as he did so I rode to each group of horsemen and gestured with my sword that we were departing.
We formed into a line at the end of the forum opposite a great temple that had now become the citizens’ sanctuary. Rising high into the sky, it had stone steps on all sides and was fronted by fluted columns, with a large frieze on its architrave. The pediment was topped with sculptures. The forum was now littered with corpses, men and women who had either been trampled to death in the rush to
avoid us, or, I am ashamed to say, killed by my own men. But now, in front of the temple steps, was gathering the town garrison. They had been conspicuous by their absence up to now, but I saw them flooding into the square, beginning to assemble into their ranks. I glanced right and left and raised my bow; my men answered by raising theirs. We were ready. I had been fighting in Italy for two years now, or at least two campaigning seasons, and I had come to recognise the tell-tell signs as to whether a unit was battle hardened or full of inexperienced recruits. Those who faced us were nervous. It took their centurions an age to get them into formation, the men being struck by vine canes as they were thrown into place and hit across the back. Their officers were also screaming orders at them, though no one seemed to be taking any notice. But I did notice that said officers, three of them mounted on horses, kept glancing at us nervously. The whole scene was illuminated by an eerie red glow as the fires that raged around the forum provided light. Then, from within the temple, there came a dirge as the citizens prayed and sang to their gods that their lives might be spared.
I had thought of withdrawing and leaving for whence we had come, but the sight of the enemy forming in front of me persuaded me otherwise. It would be dishonourable to retreat in the face of the enemy, and my men would think ill of me, if they thought of me at all at that moment. The Romans were in position now, two hundred paces from us, about four hundred of them in five centuries. They outnumbered us two to one, but numbers are only one part of the equation in war. Behind them the awful sound coming from the temple must have unnerved them, for it seemed to have turned into a drawn-out lament.
I gave the signal for the whole line to advance and we moved forward a few paces, then halted. My men had their bows at the ready.
The Romans could have advanced against us, but I suspected that because they were only garrison troops it would take a mighty effort to move them from behind their shields. I also noticed that they were armed with spears not javelins, and they had no archers or slingers.
I looked at their uneven, ragged line and could almost smell their fear from where I was sitting on Remus. They presented their wall of shields to us, but I knew that it would be as effective as paper when the killing began. Their officers were still screaming at them, no doubt in an effort to fill their own hearts with courage. Hours before they had been officials in some forgotten backwater in Italy, and now they were fighting for their lives. What thoughts were filling their minds I did not know, but I knew that I could magnify their terror.
I placed my bow in its case and nudged Remus forward a few steps. I spread my arms wide as I faced the Roman line, being careful to keep out of spear range.
‘Soldiers of Rome, I give you this opportunity to lay down your weapons and save your lives.’
The Roman officers and their centurions stopped yelling and looked at me.
‘Do you not know who I am, Roman filth? I am Prince Pacorus whom you call “The Parthian”. I demand once more that you lay down your weapons and prostrate yourselves before me. Only then will your lives be saved.’
At that moment a centurion stepped from the ranks to throw his spear. He was dead before the shaft left his right hand, an arrow in the middle of his chest.
I laughed at the enemy. ‘Did you not hear me, Romans, for I speak in your own language, the language of the gutter. Behold my might.’
I lowered my arms and my men instantly killed the Roman officers on horseback.
‘If Roman armies cannot defeat me, how much less are the chances of a tiny, ill-trained garrison? I give you this one last chance. Throw yourselves on my mercy and you will live. Resist and you will die. Archers!’
As one my men pointed arrows at the enemy, ready to shoot. Then a Roman soldier at the end of the line threw down his shield and darted from the square, followed by another next to him. A centurion cut down a third man attempting to flee with his sword, but was himself killed by one of my men. And then the whole Roman line dissolved into a disorganised mass of frightened individuals attempting to save themselves. A few, a tiny minority, tried to throw their spears at us, but a hail of arrows cut them down along with those trying to run away. It was all over in less than a minute. I had not shot one arrow. Before me, enemy shields, helmets and spears lay scattered on the tiles of the forum.
Gallia rode up beside me.
‘It seems that you can defeat the Romans with mere words now.’
‘I knew they wouldn’t stand. Terror can often be deadlier than the sharpest sword.’
‘Are you starting to believe your own legend?’
I shot her a glance. ‘What do you mean?’
‘All this nonsense about “the Parthian” and the like. Pride often comes before a fall.’
I smiled at her. ‘You of all people should know, beautiful one, that Parthians never fall off their horses.’
We had suffered no casualties. But now the smoke was beginning to swirl around the forum, grey clouds that stung the back of the throat and made us cough. The sound continued from the temple, seemingly reaching a dreadful crescendo of wailing. One of my men rode up and saluted.
‘Do you want us to fire the temple, lord?’
‘No, we do not want to anger their gods. Besides, the flames might do it for us.’
The shops around the forum were beginning to catch alight now and I could feel the heat increasing all around us. It was time to leave. We rode back down the main road and left the way we had come. Behind us, the flames consumed Arretium.
I do not know if the people in the temple survived, though I liked to think so.
‘You are a fool, Pacorus,’ said Spartacus with Claudia beside him. Both were reclining on cushions on the floor of his tent. The floor was covered with a large red carpet.
It was now over a month since I had raided the city, and the army had moved south through Latium and was now in Campania. My cavalry had raided far and wide with impunity, there being no opposition to stop us.
‘Leave him alone, Spartacus.’ Claudia smiled at me.
‘There is no honour in killing civilians, lord,’ I said, picking another rib from one of the platters on the table.
‘You hear that Spartacus?’ added Akmon. ‘He’s talking about honour again.’
Spartacus drank wine from his cup. ‘You are a fine soldier, Pacorus, and a great leader of horse.’ I winked at Gallia beside me, who rolled her eyes. ‘But all this talk of honour will get you killed if you’re not careful. The Romans have no honour, remember that.’
‘A man without honour is a man without a soul,’ mused Gafarn.
‘Are you a poet, or just drunk?’ asked Spartacus.
Gafarn looked at him, then me. ‘No, lord, but that is what King Varaz has always told his son. Is that not right, highness?’
‘That is right, Gafarn,’ I said proudly.
Spartacus proffered a jug of wine and filled my cup. ‘You are a lost cause, my friend.’
The tent flap opened, a guard walked in and saluted Spartacus. ‘There is a man outside, sir, a Roman.’
Spartacus stood up, as did we all. ‘A Roman? Is he mad, or perhaps he has a wish to end his life?’
‘He says he has a letter, sir.’
‘For me?’ Spartacus spread his arms wide. ‘Perhaps the Romans want to surrender.’ We all laughed.
‘No, sir,’ replied the guard. ‘The letter is for Prince Pacorus.’
All eyes were on me. I was stunned.
‘It must be a mistake,’ I said. ‘Who knows me aside from those in this army.’
‘Who indeed?’ said Spartacus. He pointed at the guard. ‘Bring the letter.’
‘And the Roman?’
‘Kill him,’ said Akmon, his teeth battling a rib. The rib was winning.
‘No. Let him go,’ said Spartacus, ‘but see he doesn’t loiter. No doubt he is also a spy.’
‘All the more reason to kill him,’ grunted Akmon.
‘He says he has to obtain a reply before he leaves.’
; ‘You can’t kill everyone,’ I said.
‘Why not?’ he mumbled.
The guard brought in the letter and handed it to me. It was a scroll with a wax seal. Claudia and Gallia sat back down on the cushions as I handed it to Spartacus.
‘You read it, lord.’
‘Me? But it is addressed to you.’
‘I have a feeling that it also concerns you.’
I sat down beside Gallia as Spartacus cut the seal, flopped down beside his wife and read the letter out loud.
To Prince Pacorus, son of King Varaz of Hatra.
Greetings.
My name is Marcus Licinius Crassus. Having been appointed by the People and Senate of Rome to safeguard their freedom and lives, I have vowed in the temple of my ancestors to bring to an end the murderous uprising of the slaves under the criminal Spartacus. But I know that you are not a slave and that you are the son of a noble line whose blood flows from the ancient Arsacid dynasty. By what curious fate you find yourself among slaves and criminals I know not, but I do know that the kings of the Parthian Empire are men of honour, and therefore knowing that there is nobility in Parthia, I have no hesitation in assuming that you too are a person of quality and importance.
This being the case, I invite you to meet with me at my house in Rome so that we can discuss more fully the sad present state of affairs you find yourself in, and perhaps reach an understanding that is beneficial to us both. Know that this invitation is given freely without any preconditions or expectations, and be assured that your person will be esteemed inviolable should you grant me the honour of meeting with you in person. This letter shall grant you safe conduct to and from my house in the city of Rome.
I eagerly await your reply. I remain your friend.
Marcus Licinius Crassus, General and Senator of Rome.
‘Who is this Crassus?’ asked Claudia.
I shrugged. ‘Never heard of him.’
Spartacus rolled up the scroll and handed it back to me. ‘Well, he has obviously heard of you. What are you going to do?’
‘Ignore it, I suppose. What is this Crassus to me?’
Spartacus gestured at the guard. ‘Bring in the messenger.’
The man, in his forties, dressed in a tunic of quality with a thick cloak around his shoulders, was shorter than Spartacus and had a full head of hair. His countenance was one of wisdom and maturity.
‘What is your name?’
‘Ajax, sir.’ I noticed that the man did not look directly at Spartacus but stared at the floor in front of him.
‘You are a slave.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who is your master?’
‘Marcus Licinius Crassus.’
‘How long have you been a slave?’
‘Many years, sir, in the house of my master.’
Spartacus poured a cup of wine and handed it to Ajax. ‘Would you like a drink?’
Ajax took the cup and drank, aware that everyone was watching him.
‘Would you like to join us, Ajax? To be a free man?’
Ajax drained the cup and handed it back to Spartacus, still looking at the floor.
‘That is a most generous offer, sir. But my master has been very kind to me and treats me very well. I must, therefore, decline your magnanimous offer.’
‘You see, Pacorus,’ Spartacus looked at me, ‘how making the leap from slave to free man is a chasm too wide for many.’
‘I must beg an answer from Prince Pacorus,’ Ajax said.
‘You are walking into a trap,’ snorted Akmon, finishing his wine and then pouring himself some more.
‘My master has vouchsafed the life of Prince Pacorus,’ replied Ajax, still staring at the floor, ‘and no harm will come to him.’
‘Do you trust your master, Ajax?’ asked Spartacus.
‘With my life, sir.’
Spartacus laughed. ‘That much is obvious, for he has sent you into the wolf’s lair sure enough. Well, Pacorus, it is your decision.’
I looked around me. Akmon was shaking his head at me, Claudia was glancing at me and then Spartacus, while Diana looked very worried and Gafarn bemused. I turned to Gallia.
‘I would like to see Rome, I must confess.’
‘It is your choice, my love. But the Romans have put you in chains once; can you be sure they will not do so again, or worse?’
I could not, of course, but I must confess that the chance to see Rome itself was too much to resist. Rubi began hissing at Ajax, until Gallia told her to be silent.
‘I will go with you, Ajax.’
Akmon sighed with disgust, Diana grabbed Gafarn’s arm while Claudia cast her eyes to the floor.
‘It is decided, then,’ said Spartacus.
‘I hope you are not disappointed, lord,’ I said.
‘Of course not. You are free to make your own choices. That is why this army exists, and why the Romans hate us so much.’
While I waited for Remus to be brought to me, I said my farewells. They were more tearful than I expected, though strange to say the quiet presence of Ajax was reassuring. He fervently believed in the word of his master. I hoped he was right. I embraced Gallia and promised that I would take care of myself. As we were walking from the tent Spartacus called after us.
‘Ajax, if anything happens to Pacorus, tell your master that I will kill ten thousand Romans in retaliation.’
Our army was around fifty miles from Rome, and for the first thirty of those a company of men led by Nergal trailed us. In the end I halted and rode to meet them. I sent them back to camp, telling Nergal that their presence would only provoke the Romans into attacking them. Nergal was most unhappy, but he reluctantly obeyed and so I was alone with Ajax. We rode at a leisurely pace, he on a brown mare with his cloak wrapped around him, me on Remus dressed in my armour, white crested helmet and white cloak.
‘He’s a fine horse, sir.’
‘His name is Remus.’
‘Ah, named after one of the founders of Rome. A fitting name.’
I patted Remus’ neck. ‘He is a trusty horse, though wilful. Which land do you come from, Ajax?’
‘Greece, sir.’
‘Have you always been...’ I hesitated to finish the sentence.
‘A slave? Since I was five, sir.’
‘Were you captured in war?’
‘No, sir, sold by my parents.’
‘Sold by your parents?’
‘It is a common practice. The Romans like Greek slaves to work in their households. They believe we are more intelligent than other races, on account of the great philosophers and writers being in Greece in the time when Rome was but a small village. The Romans wish to be better than the Greeks, you see, and one way they can do that is to learn everything about Greece and the Greeks. Since my first arrival in Rome I was taught languages, the law and financial accounts. And now I help run my master’s household in Rome.’
‘Have you no wish to see your homeland again?’
‘I have seen it, sir, three times. My master owns property in Greece as well as in Italy, and his business interests have taken me to Athens twice and Corinth once. But I have no wish to live there. I find the people irksome, with their continual complaints about living under foreign rule and their longing for the Golden Age.’
‘What is that?’
‘Supposedly when every Greek was free and lived in prosperity. In reality, it was a time of constant war when cities were burned and people enslaved. One only has to read their histories to discover that this was so. At least Greece is peaceful now.’
‘But under a Roman yoke.’
He laughed. ‘All men live under some sort of yoke, sir, even kings and princes. The burden of wanting to be a great or just king, or the continual lust for glory. For the poor man, the yoke of filling the bellies of his wife and children with food can grind him into nothing. The yoke of Roman rule can be worn lightly enough.’
I thought about the thousands of slaves toiling under the lash in the fields or in the mine
s. No doubt they would have a different view.
We stopped for the night in a well-appointed inn by the side of the road, which had good stables, clean albeit sparse rooms and served simple food in large portions. Ajax paid for our rooms in advance, with an extra amount for the horses to be watered and fed and then groomed. He paid the innkeeper in gold coins from a large purse that was full of money. He spoke to the man, a portly middle-aged gentleman with ruddy cheeks and a bushy beard, as an equal, and to the man’s servants as a master.
We set off at mid-morning under an overcast sky. Remus had been cared for well, and I had to admit that it was nice to sleep in a bed again. Ajax informed me that we would be in Rome by the afternoon, and I felt a tingle of excitement in my stomach. As we got nearer the city the amount of traffic on the road increased. Carts overfilled with wares to sell in the markets, herds of cattle and goats being marshalled for sale and then slaughter, and groups of travellers on foot heading both east and west. Most paid us no heed as we rode on the verge by the side of the road, for Ajax’s horse had no iron shoes on its feet. We were just two more among the throng that was heading for the city. I rode bare headed that day, fastening my helmet to the saddle. Amid the bustle and chatter of a thousand voices, war and killing seemed far away.
We had travelled along a road that Ajax informed me was called the Via Salaria, which like all Roman roads was a masterpiece of engineering. As we neared the city itself I began to see more and more gateways either side of the road, each one set in an immaculate high, white stone wall and leading to a grand villa. Ajax told me that they were called pars urbana, where rich citizens sought quiet and refuge from the bustle and smells of Rome. He informed me that his master did not have such a residence, being content to have one house only, in Rome itself.
We entered the city through the Porta Collina, the so-called ‘hill gate’, a massive structure with two three-storey gatehouses flanking the two wooden gates, which were studded with great iron spikes. The walls either side of the gates were thirty feet high and patrolled by legionaries. There were also soldiers at the gates, who cast a watchful eye over all who were entering and leaving the city. A centurion watched us as we ambled up to the gates and then passed by him, but though he frowned at my long hair he did not stop us. Ajax must have noticed my unease.
‘Have no fear, sir. Many different races come to Rome. For all they know, you might be a foreign merchant coming to the city to seal a deal.’
I carried only my sword for protection, no bow, and those who looked at me at all must have assumed that I was a foreign soldier of some sort. By the different skin colours on display and the languages I had heard on the road, I realised that Rome must contain a host of different races. There were dark-skinned Africans, Arabs in their flowing robes, Jews with straggly beards, and fair-skinned men and women who must have originated from north of the Alps. One thing was certain, a solitary Parthian would not stand out among this collection of various peoples.
‘Do they close the gates at night?’
‘They do, sir, though the city has grown considerably since the walls were first built, and now large sections of Rome lie outside of the walls. And now, sir, if you please, we must wait for our escort.’
‘Escort?’
‘Oh yes. Otherwise it would take forever to get to my master’s house.’
We waited for around ten minutes, and then a detachment of legionaries appeared. There were twenty of them, commanded by a burly centurion with a red crest atop his helmet and the ubiquitous vine cane in his right hand. He saluted Ajax stiffly, noted me and then barked orders at his men, who formed up either side and in front of us, with the centurion at the head.
‘We must be at my master’s house by noon, centurion. Our business is most important.’
We travelled through streets teeming with people and crammed full of shops, taverns and eating places. Most of the buildings were whitewashed multi-storey affairs, with shops and eating places on the ground floor and lodgings above them. The level of activity was frenetic, with thousands of citizens shouting, arguing, laughing and haggling at the tops of their voices. The soldiers pushed anyone in their way rudely aside, and the centurion would occasionally shout. ‘Make way, by order of General Marcus Licinius Crassus.’ This Crassus was a man of some importance, given that people did indeed move out of the way at the mere mention of his name. Our journey took us to a flat-topped hill with two separate peaks called, so Ajax informed me, the Palatium and the Ceramulus. The hill itself was called the Palatine and was home to General Crassus, and judging by the magnificent villas that adorned it was also home to Rome’s richest residents. Here there were no crowds or shops, just walled villas, immaculately kept roads and quiet. We halted in front of a pair of wooden gates set in a high stone wall at which the road we were on ended. Ajax dismissed the centurion, who marched away with his legionaries. We dismounted and Ajax knocked at one of the gates. A pair of eyes appeared at a peephole and seconds later the gates opened. We rode through them and into a large landscaped garden filled with exotic shrubs, trees and brightly coloured flowers. Gardeners were tending to flower beds while other slaves were feeding huge carp that swam in ornate ponds. It was truly a magnificent place, heavy with sweet scents, and would certainly rival our own royal gardens in Hatra. Two slaves took our horses (Ajax assured me that Remus would be well cared for – I did not doubt him), and then we walked along a path flanked by cypresses to the villa itself, which had a peristyle of white stone columns enclosing the interior of the building itself. A slave approached and bowed to Ajax.
‘The master wonders if our guest would like to bathe and change his clothes before he eats.’
‘Perhaps a bath and massage before dining, Prince Pacorus?’ Ajax said.
‘Thank you, that would be most welcome,’ I replied.
The massive villa had its own baths, a beautiful tiled structure with a steam room and an adjacent pool of cool water. After washing and steaming the dust and grime of the journey from my limbs, a small, muscular Numibian massaged my body, his strong, bony fingers reaching deep into my joints and sinews. I emerged from his hour-long session feeling refreshed and invigorated; indeed, not since I had left Hatra had I felt so relaxed. I was then led to my room, a large, sumptuous area with a white stone balcony with an intricate stone balustrade that had an impressive view of the city of Rome. The city was huge, its buildings sprawling into the distance. In truth I had never seen such a large city, and at that moment I feared for Spartacus and his army. I also remembered the words of King Ambiorix that Rome never seemed to run out of armies. I understood this now, for you could fit ten cities the size of Hatra inside Rome.
Fresh clothes had been laid out on the bed, a white silk tunic, sandals and a belt of black leather. After I had changed into them a slave came and took my old clothes away to be cleaned, while Ajax also appeared to escort me to dinner. We walked along corridors adorned with marble busts on columns of stern-looking Roman gentlemen and walls painted with beautiful frescos depicting mythical scenes from Rome’s ancient history. Ajax ushered me into a medium-sized room that was occupied by a number of large sofas piled with cushions, upon which reclined a man dressed in a white toga, who upon my entering rose and walked towards me.
Ajax stood stiffly to attention. ‘Prince Pacorus, may I present to you my master, Marcus Licinius Crassus, senator and general of Rome.’
The man who stood before me was perhaps forty years old, of average height with a full head of neatly cut brown hair. He had a broad forehead, long nose and large ears. His visage was rather severe, accentuated by his rather thin lips. I bowed my head to him, as befitting his rank.
‘An honour, sir.’
‘The honour is mine, Prince Pacorus.’ His voice was deep, his tone serious. He gestured with his right hand towards the sofas. ‘Please, be seated so that we may eat.’
I knew that rich Romans liked to eat whilst reclining on sofas, a habit that I found curious but not unpleasant. I
reclined on my left side whilst Crassus, his sofa at right angles to mine, reclined on his right side. Ajax clapped his hands and a procession of servants served us a variety of exotic dishes. First we were served salad with asparagus and salted fish. Then followed combinations of game and poultry. The wine we were served was truly wonderful, no doubt made from the finest grapes. I was aware all the time that Crassus was observing me as I was eating, and noted with surprise that I thanked each slave who offered me a tray of food.
‘You find the food to your satisfaction, Prince Pacorus?’
‘Very much so, sir.’
‘And your room is comfortable?’
‘A most impressive view of the city.’
He nodded and sat up on his couch. ‘Good. You must be wondering why I asked you here.’
‘I assume it was not just for the pleasure of my company.’
‘Mm. Let us then get to the matter in hand. I have been entrusted by the Senate and people of Rome with the task of destroying the slave army led by the criminal Spartacus. This being the case, I thought it prudent to meet the man who is responsible for that army being able to vanquish so many of Rome’s legions.’
‘You flatter me, sir. But I am just a small part of that army.’
‘Indeed. Your cavalry is but a small part of the whole, but it is like the keystone in the structure of a bridge. Small, but essential. Take that stone out and the whole edifice collapses.’
The thought suddenly crossed my mind that he intended to have me killed here, today. ‘My death will avail you not, for my commanders are all competent and will lead the cavalry without me.’
He was hurt by my suggestion. ‘Roman senators are not assassins. If I had wanted you dead I would not have invited you to my house.’
‘My apologies. But why did you ask me here?’
He clicked his fingers and held out his silver goblet, which was filled by a slave holding a jug of wine. ‘To make you an offer, Prince Pacorus. I am willing to pass over your campaign of rapine in Italy, on condition that you leave this land. Should you agree, I will arrange for your passage and safe conduct back to Hatra. I will even organise a safe passage for your woman. I am prepared to let her go, despite the fact that she was responsible for the gladiator revolt at Capua that nearly resulted in the death of the lanista, a certain Cnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Vatia. He received a nasty head wound and was left for dead. Fortunatey for him a skilled Greek physician managed to save his life. Your woman is dangerous.’
‘My woman?’ He seemed to be well informed.
He sighed, as though disappointed by my underestimation of him. ‘I have in my study reports from the provinces of Bruttium, Lucania, Campania, Apulia, Samnium, Picenum and Umbria of a long-haired warrior riding a white horse with a blonde-haired woman riding with him, who with their band of mounted archers have cut a trail of destruction throughout Italy. They call him, that is to say you, “the Parthian”, and your woman “blonde everto”, the blonde demon. Were you a mere brigand leading a band of raiders you could be easily dealt with, but this Spartacus has trained his slaves well, and you are the instrument that gives him victory.’
‘I think you overestimate me…’
He rose from his couch and waved his right hand at me. ‘Do not insult me, young prince. I have studied the battles that you have won and the methods you use. Your cavalry is his eyes and ears and the thing that makes this villain victorious.’
I was immensely proud. He noticed my pleasure. ‘That this is a source of pride to you is understandable, though I wonder what your father would say if he knew that his son was in an army of cutthroats and criminals, a highborn prince cavorting with lowly slaves.’
‘My father? What do you know of my father.’
He regained his seat and his composure. ‘I know that King Varaz is a mighty warrior who over two years ago led a great raid into Syria, attacking the towns of Hierapolis, Boroea and Chalcis. He reached the sea at Antioch before returning to Hatra. He too left a trail of destruction; unlike you he did not get captured. It seems that laying waste a country runs in your family.’
‘That expedition was in retaliation for a Roman invasion of my father’s kingdom.’
A wry smile crossed his face. ‘That is a moot point, but let us put it aside for the moment. Surely you wish to see your father and homeland again?’
More than he could ever imagine. ‘I do, but to abandon my men would be dishonourable.’
He laughed. ‘Honour, you speak of honour? Was there honour when Spartacus burned and looted Forum Anii or Metapontum? Would you speak of honour to the relatives of those who were butchered in those and other places by his soldiers and your horsemen? This man you follow, this Spartacus, is nothing more than a deserter from the Roman Army, a man who took to banditry who, after he was captured, was given a second chance. Instead of being condemned to be a galley slave or to work in the mines, he was given the chance to atone for his misdeeds by becoming a gladiator. But what does he do? Spits in the face of Rome a second time and instigates a rebellion.’
‘Spartacus saved my life,’ I said coolly. ‘And I count him as a friend.’
‘Then you should be more careful in the choice of your friends. Be that as it may. As I said earlier, I have been tasked with suppressing this slave revolt, and I intend to do so. I am first and foremost a businessman. I own silver mines in Spain, landed estates in Italy and Greece, some of which you and your compatriots have burned and liberated, so-called, the slaves who worked on them, as well as a number of properties in Rome itself. Spartacus and his slaves have thus directly harmed my interests, therefore the coming campaign is both personal as well as being in the service of the state.’
‘How do you know that you will not suffer the same fate as the previous Roman commanders who were sent against us?’ I asked.
‘A fair question. I will tell you why. Firstly, the legions I will lead will be financed from my own pocket, and I am not the sort of man to waste money on ill-advised ventures. You will find them of sterner stuff than those you have previously encountered. Secondly, another army is on the way and will presently land at the port of Brundisium. You will, in fact, be trapped between two armies and vastly outnumbered. Finally, as we speak a third army is marching from Spain and will be in Italy in the new year. So you see, Prince Pacorus, whatever you do the end result will be the same. I merely wish to expedite the sequence of events.’
He was probably bluffing, and yet there was no hint of gloating in his voice or exaggeration, just a calm recounting of facts.
He clicked his fingers and a slave appeared with a bowl of water, in which Crassus washed his hands. Another slave offered him a towel to dry them. Two slaves performed the same duty for me.
‘An excellent meal.’ I said. ‘Your hospitality is most generous.’
‘Then take advantage of it some more. Accept my offer and go home, because I can assure you that once I take the field I will not rest until this slave uprising has been crushed and all those who have taken part in it have been destroyed. That is the promise that I have made in the temple of my ancestors, and that is the promise I give to you.’
‘It is a fair offer, sir, and one that only a fool would refuse.’
He smiled at me, the first time he had done so. ‘And you are going to be a fool.’ He raised his hands and let them fall by his side. ‘I understand. Honour, that invisible thing that holds so many individuals and families in its grip. But in this instance, I fear that your honour will also be your executioner.’
I laughed out loud and he looked at me quizzically. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s just that someone else told me that not so long ago.’
‘He is obviously a man of some sense, you should listen to him. But it is late. Please sleep on the matter and give me your answer in the morning.’
Despite being in the house of my enemy I slept well that night, the gentle sound of fountains underneath my balcony soothing my senses. One thing was certain, this Crassus was a very wealthy i
ndividual and obviously a man of some power. I had no way of knowing if what he had told me about the army landing at Brundisium and the other marching from Spain was true, but why would he lie? If it were true, then Spartacus would indeed be in a perilous position. And yet we had beaten Roman armies before, and I comforted myself with that fact before I slipped into a deep sleep.
The next morning I rose early, just after dawn, and took breakfast in my room. I asked to be taken to the stables where I found Remus being groomed by two young stable hands. I then went to pay my respects to my host and was escorted to his study, a well-appointed office with a large desk in the centre flanked by two marble busts on chest-high stone columns. One of the busts resembled Crassus, who was seated at his desk pouring over a number of scrolls.
‘Good morning. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, sir, thank you.’
He caught me looking at his marble likeness. ‘My father, Publius Licinius Crassus, and the other one is my brother, Publius.’
‘Do they also live in Rome?’
‘Both dead, killed during one of our civil wars that happen from time to time.’
‘Killed in battle?’
He rolled up the scroll he had been reading and looked at me. ‘Alas, no. They were killed when the side that they were fighting against captured Rome and executed all those of the opposing faction. I escaped the slaughter because I happened to be outside the city inspecting a family estate at the time. I managed to flee to Spain before the enemy’s troops could get hold of me.’
‘The gods must have protected you that day, much like Shamash has looked over me thus far.’
‘Shamash?’
‘A Parthian god, and a powerful one.’
He looked at me with a bemused expression.
‘The gods, young prince, are invented so that the masses, miserable as their existences invariably are, believe that there is a better life waiting for them after they have toiled through this one. But they endure this misery in the belief that the gods will reserve for them a place in heaven, where they will reside for all eternity in eternal bliss and free from pain, disease and the other afflictions that made their lives miserable in this life.’
I was shocked. ‘You do not believe in the gods?’
‘Of course not. Important men have better things to do with their time than prostrate themselves before stone idols.’
‘I believe that Shamash protects me when I ride into battle.’
‘Of course, you have the youthful belief in invulnerability and immortality. And it suits your purpose to believe that you have a mighty warrior god fighting beside you. I imagine that you believe him to look like you as well. This woman of yours, for example, is she beautiful? Does she eclipse the sun with her perfection and dazzle you when she smiles?’
‘Yes, she is like a goddess, sir.’
He clapped his hands. ‘Of course. Have you noticed that all the statues and paintings of gods and goddesses depict them as being all young and beautiful. No deformed bodies, twisted limbs or ugly faces among the immortals. The poor believe in the gods, while princes and kings seek to become them.’
‘I try to live my life so that Shamash will be pleased with me, so that He will smile on Hatra and the Parthian Empire.’
‘Alas, much as I would like to argue religion with you, I have much to do today and regret that I cannot spend any more time talking with you.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘No, sir.’
‘That is unfortunate. You will go back to the slave army?’
‘Yes, sir, for to do otherwise would bring shame and dishonour upon myself and my father.’
‘Very well. I can see that more words would be wasted. But remember my promise, Prince Pacorus. When you leave my house you will be my enemy once again, and one that I intend to hunt down and destroy. If we should meet again, you will find that I will be acting on the orders of the Senate and people of Rome, and they will expect retribution for what you have done.’
‘I understand, sir.’
He rose from his chair and walked round his desk to face me. He nodded in approval, I like to think, and then offered me his hand. I took it.
‘Farewell, Prince Pacorus. It was a pleasure meeting with you.’
‘You too, sir.’
After I had left his study, Remus was brought to me and I rode from the villa accompanied once again by Ajax. This time we did not have an escort and it took us some time to descend the Palatine. Once again the streets heaved with a mass of humanity speaking many tongues aside from Latin. Today was if anything even busier than yesterday, as attested to by Ajax, who informed me that it was a market day when all the farmers who lived outside Rome brought their produce into the city to sell. Indeed, we had to take a detour as several streets had been closed to traffic to allow the farmers to set up their stalls along designated ‘market streets’. The smells that came from these streets confirmed that goods on sale included goats, sheep, fish, cured meats, spices and cheese. I asked Ajax if it would be possible to visit the Forum, the site that was the very centre of the Roman Empire itself.
‘Of course, sir. My master instructed that you were to be shown whatever sites you wished to visit before you left. He asks only that you do not proclaim your identity to all and sundry.’
I smiled. ‘That would be most sensible, I think.’
We left our horses at one of the properties owned by Crassus, an apartment block that had a shop selling leather goods on the ground floor and stables around a courtyard immediately behind it. Ajax gave orders that the horses were to be groomed and fed (Remus had never been groomed so many times in so short a space of time), and that we would return for them later. It was mid-morning when we walked to the valley between the Palatine, Quirinal and Viminal hills, the location of the Forum. Unfortunately, the entire Roman Empire seemed to have had the same idea, for the paved open space was a seething press of people. But they were dwarfed by the magnificent buildings that enclosed the area, white colonnaded structures with red-tiled roofs. The senate house itself, though having majestic bronze doors, was actually the least impressive building in the Forum. The grandest were the temples: tall, imposing structures built to pay homage to deities called Saturn, Vulcan, Concordia, Vesta and Castor. I noticed a large group of young men gathered at the doors of the senate house and asked Ajax who they were.
‘The sons of senators who are currently sitting inside, sir. They listen to the debates so that one day they will be familiar with its procedures, and will thus be able to take their place as senators when their time comes.’
‘Is your master debating today.’
‘No, sir, he has more pressing matters to attend to.’
‘Such as planning to crush the slave rebellion.’
He looked sheepish and uncomfortable. ‘Yes, sir.’
I also noticed a large wooden platform in front of the senate house, on which a speaker was addressing a crowd. I also noticed that there were spikes mounted on either side of it. Ajax told me that the platform was called a rostra and was used by speakers to harangue the crowds. The heads of notable Romans who were on the losing side in Rome’s seemingly frequent civil wars were mounted on the spikes. I wondered if the heads of the father and brother of General Crassus had ended up here. After an hour we left the Forum and retraced our steps back to where our horses were stabled. After a meal of bread and cheese we began our journey out of the city. We left via the Porta Collina and rode east. After ten miles I halted and bade Ajax farewell. He told me that the latest news he had heard was that the slave army had moved further south, towards Campania. I shook his hand and asked whether he would reconsider his decision about joining us. He said no, and who could blame him? He may have been a slave, but he enjoyed a position of power serving a powerful Roman senator.
I rode hard and camped for the night at a miserable place called a hospitium, a wretched hovel where I had to share a large, draughty room with around a dozen stinki
ng fellow travellers. In the morning I had to hunt down and kill the lice that had migrated from them to me, but from talking with them I did learn that Spartacus had camped fifty miles southeast of Rome. It took another day to reach the army, the diminishing number of travellers on the road a sure sign that I was getting close to its camp. On a drizzly autumn morning, with my cloak wrapped around me in a futile attempt to keep dry, I ran into a patrol of cavalry armed with spears and shields. I recognised them at once as being part of Burebista’s dragon. Fortunately, they also recognised me and told me that the army was five miles away.
‘Any sign of the enemy?’ I asked their commander.
‘No, lord.’
I dismissed them and carried on with my journey. An hour later I was in the arms of Gallia , brushing away the tears of joy as I told her that I loved her and would never leave her side again. It was so good to see her, as well as Godarz, Gafarn, Nergal, Burebista and Diana, even the wild Rubi gave me a sort of smile. Godarz informed me that we would be moving south into Campania within two days, and Nergal said that he had patrols operating up to fifty miles away from the army.
‘So far, highness, they have not encountered any Romans.’
Later that day I rode with Gallia to see Spartacus, and found him on the training ground practising his swordsmanship. He stopped when he saw me and we embraced.
‘Not tempted to become a Roman, then?’
‘No, lord. But I must speak with you about a matter of some importance.’
We walked back to his tent where we found a blooming Claudia darning one of his tunics. We hugged each other and I told her that pregnancy suited her.
‘And having you back suits Gallia,’ she smiled. ‘Don’t go away again.’
‘No, lady.’
Spartacus told me to wait in his tent and then went to fetch the other members of the war council, leaving me alone with Gallia and Claudia.
‘What did you think of Rome, Pacorus?’ Claudia asked me.
‘It was unlike any city I have ever seen, huge and imposing.’
‘Is Hatra not large?’ said Gallia.
I took her hand. ‘It is, but in truth it could fit inside Rome many times.’
Half an hour later Spartacus returned, along with Akmon, Castus, Cannicus and Afranius. Castus gave me a bear hug.
‘There was a rumour that you had joined the Vestal Virgins, but I said you were too ugly for them.’
‘And certainly not a virgin’ said Akmon, at which Gallia blushed.
When we had all settled into chairs and wetted our lips with wine, I told them of the meeting I had had with Crassus.
‘He is rich, that much is true. His reputation for greed is known throughout Italy,’ said Spartacus. ‘I talked with Godarz while you were away, and he had certainly heard of Marcus Licinius Crassus, of his reputation anyway.’
‘He told me that in addition to the army he was raising, another army was going to land at Brundisium and a third was on its way from Spain.’
Akmon looked at me. ‘Do you think he was trying to awe you with his power?’
‘That was part of it, but he was also sending a message to you, lord.’
Spartacus nodded to himself. ‘That the only outcome of this war would be our slaughter.’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because that’s the only fate for slaves who rebel. Death. And that’s why he would only speak to you. You are a royal prince whereas we are lower than animals. Their pride forbids any Roman to talk to a slave as an equal.’
‘There is one thing more,’ I said.
All eyes were on me. I took another gulp of wine. ‘He offered me safe passage out of Italy, back to Hatra.’ I glanced at Gallia. ‘Along with Gallia.’
Spartacus’ expression did not change. ‘So why are you still here?’
‘Because all of you are my friends and I will not abandon you. And I could not go back to Hatra having abandoned my friends. This I told Crassus.’
‘And your honour forbids you from deserting this army, doesn’t it?’ Akmon’s tone was one of mockery but I also detected a hint of admiration in his voice.
‘That too.’
‘Well, then,’ said Spartacus, ‘it would appear that Hatra will have to do without you for a little longer.’