Chapter 8
No one slept that night, and as a grey and damp dawn broke all of us had aching limbs and tired eyes. Even our horses had their heads down and looked sullen. A light breeze added to our discomfort by making the morning cooler. There was also an eerie silence, since the army, together with Spartacus and his Thracians, had left hours ago and the road from the bridge was now devoid of all traffic save a few miserable-looking dogs who were scavenging for food. I ordered everyone to search for anything that would burn, and had it piled into half a dozen huge bonfires, which were set alight and were soon crackling as the flames hungrily ate away at the wood. Nergal found a couple of wagons whose wheels had broken, which we dragged back to the bridge, broke up and also threw on the fires. While sentries kept watch we huddled around the fires and warmed ourselves. Then we rubbed down the horses, fetched water from the river for them and then fed them. Then we ourselves ate a hearty breakfast of hot porridge. By mid-morning we were feeling much livelier, and as the Romans had still not made an appearance I gave the order to break camp and follow the army.
We moved out at noon, just as the advance guard of the Roman army made an appearance on the horizon, a long, dark column of legionaries marching six-abreast down the road towards the bridge. I was the last to leave as from the bridge I watched the enemy approaching. I saw no cavalry, but had no doubt my chief opponent, Lucius Furius, was out there somewhere. I rode Remus away and joined the rest of the column as it trotted to meet the rear of the army.
We rode for an hour and then dismounted and walked the horses to give them a rest. Burebista walked beside me as more grey clouds heaped the sky.
‘The Romans will be across the river today, lord,’ he said, obviously anticipating the coming battle with relish, ‘then we will be able turn and beat them.’
‘You sound very certain,’ I said.
‘This army has good leaders, not like mine, and we have cavalry and the Romans do not.’
‘They have some,’ I reminded him.
He shook his head. ‘Romans are foot soldiers, they see no use in cavalry save for scouting and carrying their fat officers. We Dacians and you Parthians are horsemen and know how to use cavalry on and off the battlefield. That’s why we will win.’
He had an infectious enthusiasm, and I decided there and then that I would promote him to a senior command as soon as the cavalry was sufficiently large enough. Men prefer to follow confident leaders.
We caught up with the rear of the army in the late afternoon, to find Akmon sitting by the side of the road eating a piece of bread as his Thracians marched in step past him. I rode over to him as my horsemen dismounted and rested on either side of the road. Of the sun there was still no sign on this overcast day.
‘The Romans were approaching the bridge just as we left.’
He nodded. ‘They’ll get their engineers to rig up a makeshift span and then they’ll march across tomorrow. They obviously aren’t in a hurry. Because they are fighting slaves, you see, they are taking their time. For a Roman, fighting slaves is akin to cleaning out latrines – a dirty, unpleasant business but necessary. That’s why they are so hard on slaves who revolt, because it forces them to undertake dishonourable duties.’
‘That is fortunate for us,’ I said.
He finished his light meal and stood up. ‘We’ll have to fight them soon, though. Like Spartacus said, we can’t keep running forever.’
‘I’ve beaten Romans before.’
He eyed me. ‘Took an eagle, so I’ve heard. That’s impressive for one so young.’
‘Truth is, I was lucky,’ I said.
He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Let’s hope your luck lasts, for all our sakes.’
We walked behind Akmon’s Thracians as we followed the road up onto the plateau. As we rose higher the road passed through a narrow ravine that was flanked by high, sheer rock faces. I understood now why Spartacus wanted Forum Annii taken before the army moved. Even a small force would have been able to hold us up easily in such a narrow passage. The road through the ravine was littered with animal dung and stank, forcing us to watch our step as each of us navigated around what the army’s livestock had deposited. It took us an hour to pass through the ravine and up onto the high plateau. Ahead of us the road went straight to Forum Annii, over which hung a pall of smoke. It appeared that Crixus and his Gauls had been successful. Beyond the town, in the distance, was a vast dust cloud that filled the horizon, the telltale sign of an army on the march. As it was dry here the plateau had obviously been spared the rain that had chilled us earlier. The army had made good time, being already beyond the town. As the road passed straight through Forum Annii and out the other side, we continued our march ahead. I continually sent back riders to relieve the ones who were making sure no Roman cavalry patrols would surprise us, but there was no sign of the enemy. In fact, there was no sign of anything, no birds or wildlife.
‘Very quiet, don’t you think?’ observed Akmon.
As we approached the town I could see that the gates were open, with smoke and flames pouring from the gatehouse above. As we got nearer I saw two dead bodies lying on the road near the gates. Akmon ordered his men to adopt a close formation and to be on their guard. I passed the word to my horsemen to have their bows ready, in case we met any resistance. Akmon’s men went into the town first and we immediately followed with arrows on our bowstrings, ready to provide covering volleys if needed. But as we passed through the gates and into the town it became apparent that we would meet no resistance; indeed, I wondered if we would encounter anything alive, for bodies lay everywhere. The corpses of people killed by swords, with their tunics stained with blood where they had been run through and slashed by sharpened blades; bodies that had been bludgeoned by axes or clubs, and bodies that had been skewered by spears, the shafts left in their torsos. Blood was splashed on walls and flowed in rivulets in the streets. Some residents had been nailed to their front doors, though whether they had been alive or dead when this had been done to them I did not know. Dogs and cats had likewise been slaughtered, their carcasses lay strewn on the pavements and streets. I had never witnessed such a scene, and by the stunned silence of my men, neither had they. The stench of excrement and offal made my stomach heave, and Remus began to flick his head in alarm. I tried to calm him down as we made our way though the slaughterhouse that was once a town. We rode past a row of houses, each of which had a first-floor timber balcony supported on stone columns that extended over the pavement. From these balconies hung entire families: men, women, children and babies. Some of the bodies had been stripped naked, the women’s breasts having been severed and the men’s genitals hacked off. Blood was everywhere: on the balconies, staining the columns and splattering over the walls. So much blood.
As we neared the centre of the town we heard noises ahead. We continued on and came to the forum, as usual a large square surrounded on three sides by rows of shops and covered colonnades. A long, red-tiled building that towered over the surrounding houses occupied its fourth side. A large group of Gauls was gathered on the far side, cheering wildly, though at what I could not see. I dismounted and gave the order for the others to do the same.
Akmon and his Thracians had also filed into the forum and had formed up into two centuries in open order.
‘Looks like the Gauls are indulging in their favourite sport,’ he said. ‘Killing people.’
‘I’m going to put a stop to it.’
He eyed me with curiosity. ‘Their blood is up, and they won’t take kindly to you interfering.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I cannot allow innocent people to be slaughtered while I stand by and do nothing. It is dishonourable.’
He laughed. ‘Very well, then. Me and my boys will lend a hand if your expertise at diplomacy is found wanting.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet, young Parthian. You may still end up on the end of a Gaul’s spear.’
I marched over to t
he commotion. I had my bow in my right hand and my quiver slung over my shoulder. Burebista walked a few paces behind me as my men formed a line across the forum and readied their bows. The cheering died away instantly as the Gauls became aware of our presence. Their ranks parted and I could see Oenomaus sitting in a large, ornate chair that had been placed in the square. He had one leg draped over one of its arms and was drinking from a richly decorated cup. He was obviously drunk. I also saw with horror a line of headless corpses lying nearby on the gravel with their severed heads lying next to them. Three grinning Gauls with bloody axes stood over the corpses, while behind Oenomaus, tied together and terrified, was a group of around twenty Romans. Obviously citizens of the town, their apparel seemed to be rich, though it was difficult to tell as they had obviously been beaten severely and their garments were ripped and bloody. The women were naked, no doubt having been raped by their captors.
Oenomaus jumped up when he saw me. He drained his cup and held it out with an outstretched arm. One of his men refilled it. ‘You have no business here, Parthian,’ he said, menacingly. He had the thick muscular neck and curly moustache and eyebrows of his race, with blue tattoos on his arms. His voice was deep and harsh. His overbearing insolence reminded me of his master, Crixus.
I looked at the headless corpses. ‘Have not you seen enough blood, Oenomaus?’
‘We are having a competition, to see if Nammeius, Orgetorix and Epasnactus can sever a head with a single blow. So far they have done well and Orgetorix is ahead by miles, so to speak.’ There was uproarious laughter.
The Gauls banged their spears against their shields in salute. The clatter made the Roman captives shake and whimper. Akmon made his way over to where I stood facing Oenomaus.
‘It is time for the killing to stop,’ I said.
Oenomaus began to laugh. ‘Do you hear that? The prince has spoken and we must all obey. Do you want me to wipe your royal arse while I’m at it.’
More laughter erupted as the Gauls mocked me.
‘Be careful, Pacorus,’ said Akmon, ‘he’s a sly bastard and useful with a sword.’
‘So am I,’ I said, putting my bow and quiver on the ground and drawing my sword. Talking was obviously futile, so I pointed my sword at Oenomaus.
‘Fight me here, now,’ I shouted.
He wiped his mouth across his face and drew his sword. His men began cheering loudly for my death, while behind me the Parthians and Thracians responded with shouts of their own. Oenomaus had a Roman gladius and he knew how to use it. He attacked immediately, coming at me with a slightly crouched stance. My spatha was longer but it wasn’t a jabbing weapon, being designed to slash at opponents from horseback. Oenomaus believed he had the better of me at close quarters, and in truth he was no mean swordsman, delivering a succession of thrusting attacks that I deflected with difficulty. But I kept circling him so he had to keep moving. I lunged at him and he tried to disembowel me with a scything swing, but my reach was longer and his sword only sliced air. The onlookers were hurling encouragement and insults at the tops of their voices, and Gauls, Parthians and Thracians had formed a large circle around us.
The minutes passed and Oenomaus began sweating heavily. He had probably been killing all morning and drinking for a long time after that. His rapid attacks were obviously sapping his energy. I continued to keep out of his reach, waiting for my moment. He started to curse me now, demanding to know why I wouldn’t fight like a man, why I was a woman. He worked himself into a frenzy and slashed at my head repeatedly with his gladius. I caught the last blow with the edge of my blade, held his sword momentarily in place, moved forward and kicked his left knee with my foot. He screamed in pain as I jumped back and his balance faltered. In that instant I thrust the point of the spatha forward into his left thigh. He screamed again and I knew he was beaten. His face was contorted in pain and hate, but he could barely deflect my attacks as I rained down a succession of swings and thrusts. The last one knocked the gladius out of his hand, and before he could retrieve it I had the point of my sword at his throat. The cheers died down instantly.
Oenomaus looked defiantly at me. ‘Do it.’
‘Why soil this fine blade with your blood?’ I replied.
‘You're a gutless son of a whore.’
‘Release the prisoners to me, now!’
The Gauls began to gather behind their leader, their weapons drawn and ready to use, but my men raised their bows, ready to loose a hail of arrows into their ranks, and the Thracians also stood with my men. This clearly deterred them and made Oenomaus think again. Still looking directly at me and unflinching, he gave the order for the Romans to be released. The ragged band of terrified prisoners was roughly manhandled over to where I stood with my sword at the Gaul’s throat and they instinctively huddled behind me. Oenomaus smiled.
‘Take them, Parthian, no doubt you will order one of the men to warm your bed.’
Several of the Gauls sniggered and whooped with joy. I was seriously tempted to ram my sword through his throat. I resisted the temptation.
‘Go now, Gaul,’ I said, calmly, ‘back to the cesspool that you crawled from.’
He spat on my boots, turned and limped away. His men followed sullenly. Moments later the forum was devoid of Gauls and I sheathed my sword.
‘You should have killed him,’ said Akmon, who now stood by my side. ‘He’ll come for you again, without a doubt. Make sure you sleep with one eye open. The next time it will be a dagger in the dark.’ He barked an order for his men to form a column and slapped me hard across the back. ‘Nice work with that sword, though. We’ll make a gladiator out of you yet.’
As the Thracians marched in step from the forum one of the Romans, an elderly man with white wispy hair and pale skin nervously stepped forward from the group.
‘Thank you,’ he said in a low voice, his eyes looking at the ground.
‘You are welcome.’
I gave the order for clothing or blankets to be found to restore the women’s dignity. The elderly Roman, seeing that he and his group were not about to be killed, relaxed a little.
‘My name is Quintus Hortonius, and I thank you on behalf of myself and my family and friends.’
There were ten men of varying ages, six women, two of them of teenage years, two small children and a baby. They were all very pale. It appeared that all the women, young and old, had indeed been raped.
‘We were hiding in my house when we were captured,’ Hortonius continued. ‘They must have thought we were rich for they demanded to know where our treasure was. They took all the gold and silver we had, then marched us to this place and...’
He stopped and stared at the bloody corpses that had been beheaded. Tears welled up in his eyes.
‘You must leave this place,’ I said.
‘And go where?’
‘There is a Roman army near. I will give you an escort to ensure you all stay out of danger, but you must leave now.’
I told Burebista to give them food and water for their journey, then detailed six of his men to escort them from the town and back down the road we had earlier travelled along. I told him that he and his men should abandon them if any Roman soldiers came into view. As my men rode from the forum the aged Roman approached me.
‘I don't know your name, friend.’
‘My name is Pacorus, prince of Hatra.’
He extended his hand for me to take. ‘Then I thank you, Prince Pacorus, for sparing our lives.’ I took his hand, it seemed churlish not to, and he smiled.
‘Perhaps we shall meet again, when I shall be able to return the courtesy.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, taking Remus’ reins, ‘for my destination is Parthia and that’s a long way from here.’
‘What is a prince doing among such a rabble?’
‘It is a long story, sir, and I do not have the time to tell it to you.’
‘Romans are brought up to believe that all foreign races are barbarians,’ he said. ‘And yet today you have sh
own that there is nobility in Parthia. I bid you a safe journey, young prince.’
‘Thank you, sir. My men will ensure that you and your companions are not molested. I bid you farewell.’
The Gauls had started several fires in the town, and by now they were taking hold and spewing dense black smoke into the sky. I watched the survivors being escorted down the road, a sad band of homeless wretches trudging over the flagstones. At least they had their lives and were in their homeland.
We caught up with Akmon and his men about a mile from the town. There was no sign of the Gauls. Three hours later we found the army, camped around fifteen miles south of Forum Annii and spread across the plain from one side of the tree-covered slopes of the mountains to the other. As usual, and which always made me smile, the Roman camp had been erected in the dead centre, with its neat avenues and blocks of tents. After dismissing the men and instructing them to find our camp, I rode into the Roman camp.
I found Spartacus in his tent, sitting in a chair. He looked tired and drawn, his face showing signs of stubble where he had not shaved and there were dark rings around his eyes. He put up a hand in recognition when he saw me and beckoned me to sit. Claudia appeared from the back of the tent, looking equally exhausted.
‘Long journey?’ I asked as she poured me cup of wine then sat beside her husband.
‘Endless,’ he replied.
‘Where’s Gallia?’ I asked
That raised a smile from Claudia. ‘Have no fear, little one, your beloved is safe and well protected by your horsemen. She and Diana are with your cavalry.’
I felt myself blushing. ‘Well, I meant to say, is Gallia and everyone else safe?’
‘Of course you did,’ said Claudia, teasingly.
Spartacus was in no mood for levity, though. ‘Where are the Romans?’
‘No sign of them, lord,’ I replied.
He looked at me searchingly with narrowed, bloodshot eyes. ‘Word reached me that you passed through Forum Annii.’
I wondered what other words he had heard.
‘I did, what was left of it.’
‘You disapprove of Crixus’ methods?’
‘I disapprove of Crixus entirely,’ I replied.
‘So do I,’ added Claudia.
‘You may be interested to know that he suffered a nasty head wound when taking the town. Seems the garrison put up more of a fight than was expected. That’s why his men went on a rampage when they got inside. They lost nearly four hundred dead before they managed to scale the walls. At this moment Crixus is lying in his tent with a mighty headache.’
‘Pity his head wasn’t split open,’ I said.
Spartacus smiled. ‘What would you both have me do with him? Kill him, banish him? If I did that I would lose a quarter of my army. The problem I have is that there is a Roman army approaching and I need every man I can get hold of, especially one that likes killing Romans.’
‘He certainly likes that,’ I added bitterly.
Spartacus grimaced. ‘Needs must, Pacorus. This army is bound together by a fear and loathing of the Romans, but some of those bonds are tenuous. I have to keep this army strong and united or we will lose.’ He rose and cupped his wife’s face in his hands, kissed her and then looked at me. ‘Go and get some food and rest. Embrace Gallia and forget about Crixus.’
I rose and saluted. ‘Yes, lord.’
‘Oh and Pacorus,’ he said.
‘Yes, lord?’
‘I heard about your little disagreement with Oenomaus. You should have killed him.’
I would have to add him to the list of people who were still alive but, according to others, shouldn’t be.
I found the cavalry quartered a mile east of the main camp, near the headwaters of a river called the Aciris. The spot was heavily wooded and thus well shaded, was near to water and away from the stench of human and livestock dung that hung over the army. I found Gallia practising her archery with Diana, watched over by Gafarn and Godarz. It was good to see them all, and I ran over to Gallia and embraced her. I kissed her on the cheek and then greeted the others.
‘How’s their archery coming along?’ I said to Gafarn.
‘Good, with practice they could be as good as I,’ he replied, ‘and they’re already better than you, not that’s much of a boast.’
‘All the carts safe and sound?’ I asked Godarz, ignoring Gafarn’s jibe.
‘Yes, highness.’
‘Excellent, it’s good to be back. I would speak with the Lady Gallia alone.’
‘Same time tomorrow, ladies,’ said Gafarn, as he and the others took their leave, leaving me alone with my Gallic princess. She smiled and linked her arm with mine.
‘I’m glad you’re safe, I was worried,’ she said.
‘You were?’
‘Of course. Just because I’m a Gaul does not mean I don’t have emotions. We are not all like Crixus.’
‘Of course not,’ I stammered. ‘I didn’t mean to insult you.’
‘You are always so formal, Pacorus. You must learn to relax more.’
With my heart beating ten to the dozen that was difficult. I wondered if she knew the extent of my feelings for her? I dared to hope. We walked up into the trees and rested beneath a tall birch. The birds were singing and violence and war seemed a long way away.
‘The march here was hard,’ she mused.
‘Spartacus did well to put some distance between us and the Romans.’
‘We bypassed the town that Crixus took. They say that it was frightful afterwards.’
‘It was,’ I said bitterly. ‘Crixus killed just about everyone and everything, and when the Romans discover what he did they will be thirsting for vengeance.’
I turned to look at her. Her thick hair shone like gold in the daylight, her lips full and inviting, and her eyes the purest blue. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I leaned towards her. Then our lips touched as we kissed long and tenderly. And in those moments I experienced bliss such as I had never believed was possible.
The next two days were quiet and gave me time to think about organisation. I was pleased that the cavalry was now nearing a thousand strong, though equipment, weapons and horses were constant problems. There was no way that recruits could be trained in horse archery while the army was moving, so any recruits that joined who could ride, but who could not use a bow or any other weapon, were placed under Byrd's command as scouts. Soon he had over two hundred men looking to him for orders, which was beyond him as I had forgotten that he had been a civilian scout when he joined us prior to our expedition into Cappadocia. He came to see me as I was grooming Remus on the morning of the second day.
‘I’m not a general, lord. Know nothing about horses or feeding men.’
I could see that he was unhappy. ‘No, of course not. I did not think.’
‘You general, lord, not I.’
I thought about putting him under Godarz, but then Godarz had his hands full taking care of logistics, so in the end I attached the new recruits to Nergal, who seemed happy that his command had increased. Indeed, he was generally in good spirits as he had taken a wild Spanish girl called Praxima as his woman. In general those who had joined Spartacus were mainly men, either herdsmen, shepherds or field hands, with the odd smattering of runaway town slaves. However, as news of the slave revolt had spread more women had drifted into camp. They were Gauls, mainly, with many of them having a very unsettling resemblance to Crixus. They joined their male brethren, but other females attached themselves to the Thracians or Germans, and a few, a small band, found their way into the cavalry. I did my best to put them off, of course, but Praxima could ride, and ride well, and having sweet-talked Nergal I suddenly had another woman on horseback. He was delighted and she also happy, and as I wanted a happy second-in-command, I acquiesced.
‘In any case,’ Gallia reminded me, ‘you accepted me and Diana into your cavalry, so you can hardly turn her away.’
‘That was different.’
‘H
ow so?’
‘Well, for one thing you could both ride,’ I said.
‘So can she, actually much better than either of us.’
‘Well, you two can shoot a bow,’ I replied, irritably.
‘Only because you and Gafarn taught us. I’m sure Nergal can teach her.’
‘If you say so. Anyway, it’s done now.’
‘Is my lord prince annoyed by my questions?’ she said, mischievously.
‘Yes, no. I just don’t approve, that’s all. I’ve heard she was a prostitute.’
She glared at me. ‘Forced to be a whore by her Roman masters, you mean. Don’t be so pompous.’
She was right, of course, as she always seemed to be, which made it worse, but I had to admit that overall things were going well. I had decided that if the number of horsemen kept increasing I was going to make Nergal and Burebista commanders of their own dragons. But perhaps I was living in a fantasy land. Reality rudely interrupted my dreams when our camp was invaded by a large group of Gauls led by Crixus, his head bandaged in a grey cloth. They marched over to where I was standing and surrounded me in a menacing manner. I guessed there were around fifty of them, all carrying swords or spears and all intent on seeing my head split open, it appeared.
‘The time has come for you and me to settle affairs,’ Crixus said, fondling his two-bladed axe affectionately. He was bare headed and dressed in a tunic, trousers and leather boots. He wore no mail shirt, carried no shield and was obviously supremely confident. His hair was as wild as ever and his moustache hung down to his chest. He really was quite revolting.
‘It will be my pleasure,’ I said. I too wore no armour and carried only a sword and Cookus’ dagger.
By now the camp had stirred into action and dozens of my men were forming up around the Gauls. Nergal angrily pushed his way through them and stood by my side, sword in hand, to be joined seconds later by Burebista. Crixus was totally unconcerned about the threat to him and his men.
‘Are you going to fight or don’t you want to get your princely little hands dirty?’
I told Nergal and Burebista to step away and drew my sword. ‘You boast too much, Gaul.’
The assembled throng widened as Crixus and I began circling each other, and I was hardly aware of the sound of horns and trumpets being blown and the frantic banging of drums in the background. Moment later there were loud shouts as Byrd rode into the mass of men. Individuals jumped aside as he rode his horse into the space occupied by Crixus and me.
‘Romani, Romani,’ was all he said, his eyes wide with excitement.
The fight between Crixus and me would have to wait, for a bigger fight was going to take place first, for the Romans had arrived.
Men scattered in all directions as they frantically mustered in their companies. Crixus and his Gauls raced headlong for their own camp, while I ran to the fenced-off area where Remus was quartered. Gafarn had already saddled him, and was in the process of saddling his own horse. Gallia and Diana were also present, presumably having been sharpening their archery skills. I embraced Gallia then jumped onto Remus’ back.
‘Don’t let them out of your sight,’ I ordered Gafarn, pointing to the two women. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m depending on you.’
‘I’ll take care of them, have no fear,’ he replied. ‘You take care of yourself.’
Akmon’s Roman camp was about a mile away. I steered Remus through groups of Germans, Gauls, Thracians and others, all hurriedly gathering weapons and equipment and falling into line, their appointed officers hurling abuse at them and shoving them into formation. I reached Spartacus’ tent and went inside. Crixus was hot on my tail, sweating profusely after his run. I noticed that there was a bloodstain on his bandage – hopefully he was in great pain. Spartacus acknowledged me as I joined him at the table, upon which Akmon had placed small blocks of wood and was arranging them into two separate groups. Castus raced in seconds later and joined us at the table.
‘We’re all here. Good,’ said Spartacus. ‘We haven’t got much time so here’s the plan. These are the Romans.’ He pointed to where Akmon had arranged one group of blocks into a straight line. ‘We will attack them with a pig’s head through their centre.’
‘Pig’s head?’ I asked.
‘It’s simple,’ said Akmon, ‘one section of the army is shaped like a spear point. This is our army,’ he pointed at the line of wood blocks opposite those representing the Romans. He took one block and pushed it beyond the others in the line, then placed two blocks immediately behind it. It looked like a pyramid. ‘See, a wedge shape that can pierce the enemy line.’ He then pushed the pyramid made from three blocks into the Roman blocks and forced it through.
‘The Romans won’t be expecting us to attack, that’s our advantage,’ continued Spartacus. ‘So we’ll split their centre, smash straight through, and after that it will just be a matter of mopping up.’
‘Let my Gauls break them,’ said Crixus.
‘Not this time, Crixus,’ replied Spartacus. ‘You and your men will be on the left. They will form a line right up to the trees on the slopes of the mountain. Castus, your Germans will do the same on the right. Right up to the slopes – you must not let yourself be outflanked.’
What about me?’ I asked.
‘What about you?’ sneered Crixus. ‘It’s obvious that Spartacus has no use for you and your dainty little horses.’
Spartacus smiled at me. ‘On the contrary, Pacorus and his men will form up behind my Thracians in the centre.’
‘Not on the wings?’ I was confused.
‘If we were on a wide expanse of ground, then yes,’ said Spartacus. ‘But the end of this plateau is narrow and we can’t be outflanked.’
‘Neither can the Romans,’ said Castus.
‘That’s right. Which is why we must punch through their centre. Split them in two and then Pacorus’ horsemen can pour through the gap and sweep around behind them. The result will be two groups of surrounded and isolated Romans.’ Spartacus swept the Roman blocks off the table and onto the floor. ‘Simple.’
It did indeed seem simple, but I could tell that Spartacus had thought it out carefully beforehand. He had chosen this spot on which to fight. Claudia brought a tray of cups and a jug of wine. She smiled at me and poured wine into the cups, then handed one to each of us. Spartacus raised his cup.
‘Victory. May whatever gods you follow be with you this day.’ We raised our cups and drank to his toast.
‘And now, to your posts.’
Crixus drained his cup, belched loudly and left, followed by Akmon. I shook hands with Castus and he too departed, while I nodded at Spartacus as Claudia handed him his mail shirt and helmet. I rode back to the cavalry camp, where Nergal, Burebista, Godarz, Byrd, Gafarn and Rhesus were waiting. I noticed that Gallia, Diana and Praxima were stood a few feet away, checking their bows and daggers. I was determined that they would see no fighting this day. Around them men and horses were being formed up; the activity was hurried but not disorganised. I gathered my officers in a semi-circle and told them of Spartacus’ plan for the coming battle.
‘Makes sense,’ said Godarz. ‘There is not enough room for us to attack on the flanks.’
‘We will form up in three blocks, one of three hundred at the front and the others each two hundred strong,’ I told them. ‘I will be in the lead; Nergal will command the middle group and Burebista the third. Godarz, you will command the rest, which will form the reserve. The reserve will be made up of those who have had little training and who do not know how to shoot a bow or use a lance from the saddle.’
‘I would prefer to fight,’ said Godarz.
‘If things turn out differently from Spartacus’ plan, my friend,’ I told him, ‘then you will get your wish.’
After I had dismissed them I went to see the women, bringing Gafarn along.
‘I want you to stay with them,’ I told him. ‘And make sure they stay well away from the fighting.’
‘I
will do my best, highness, as I told you earlier when you gave me exactly the same command.’
Gallia and Diana were filling their quivers with arrows, while Praxima was buckling on a belt with a sheathed sword attached. Where did she get that from?
‘You will all stay with Godarz and Gafarn, with the reserve,’ I ordered them.
‘I want to kill Romans,’ said Praxima, who was slipping a dagger into her right boot.
‘So do I,’ seconded Gallia, her plaited blond hair running down her back. Diana said nothing.
‘Have you considered that the Romans might kill you first?’ I asked them. ‘Being part of an army means obeying orders, and you will obey mine.’
I pointed at Godarz and Gafarn to emphasise the point and then returned to where my horsemen were forming up, Rhesus marshalling the companies into line. The smell of leather and horses was comforting as the cavalry concentrated in the centre of the line, behind Akmon’s Thracians. The army used exactly the same formations and tactics as the Romans. ‘Their weapons, training and tactics have conquered half the world,’ Spartacus had told me. ‘I see no reason not to copy them.’ And so it was that in front of me thousands of men formed themselves into units called centuries, which were eight ranks deep and ten files wide, though men were detached from the last rank to carry out other duties: standard bearer, a horn blower, water carriers and medical orderlies. Each century had a centurion, a man who commanded the unit and who led from the front. He stood on the extreme right in the front rank. Six centuries made up what was called a cohort, which was around five hundred strong. In battle, as here in front of me, the centuries of the cohort deployed beside each other in a line. Ten cohorts made up a legion, which thus numbered around five thousand men in total. The normal battlefield deployment for a legion, so Spartacus told me, was four cohorts in the first line, three in the second line and three in the third line. But for this battle Spartacus had his Thracians deployed with one cohort at the front, two cohorts immediately behind in the second line, three behind them and four cohorts in the fourth line. There was little space between the four lines, which in my opinion made the whole arrangement very vulnerable to enemy missiles.
The plateau at this point was around two miles wide between the tree-covered mountain slopes. On the left were the Gauls, drawn up in three lines, and in the centre were the Thracians – one legion drawn up in three lines on the left next to the Gauls, Spartacus with his ‘pig’s head’, then another legion of Thracians deployed in three lines on his right. On the right wing were Castus and his Germans forming another two legions. The army filled the space between the slopes, so there was no chance of being outflanked. I rode forward with Nergal and Burebista to the ‘Pig’s head’. We left our horses at the rear of the formation and walked through the centuries to the front. The mood among the Thracians was amazingly relaxed considering many might be dead in a few hours. I also noticed that all the Thracians had pila, swords, mail shirts, shields and helmets, while many of the Gauls and Germans had no armour and only clubs for weapons. Clearly Spartacus made sure his own men were the best equipped. But then, as they were his most reliable and loyal troops, this made sense. I found him standing in front of the first cohort with Akmon.
‘Decided to fight on foot, Pacorus?’
‘No, lord. I was going to ask from where you will direct the battle.’
‘From here, of course,’ he replied.
I was horrified. He stood a good chance of being cut down in the first clash. ‘But lord,’ I said, ‘if you are killed then the army is lost.’
‘I am just one man, Pacorus. If I am killed others will take my place. But I cannot ask men to fight for me if I stand at the rear. You understand? Besides, once the battle starts command and control become largely impossible.’
‘And it won’t be long before it starts by the look of it,’ said Akmon, grimly.
We turned to see the Roman army approaching, a long line of red shields. The sun was glinting off thousands of helmets and pila, while a dust cloud kicked up by hobnailed sandals hung over the entire force. They were about three miles away, maybe less, and their appearance prompted cheers, hoots of derision and catcalls from our army, though I noticed that the Thracians remained silent. Spartacus and Akmon had clearly trained them well. Spartacus laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘Remember, when we break their centre you must be hard on our heels. Get behind them and shower them with missiles. Don’t get close until they break. And good luck.’
‘The same to you, lord,’ I said. Then we ran back to our horses and rejoined our men. Remus kicked at the earth with his hooves and other horses, sensing the coming slaughter, reared up in alarm. Their riders tried to calm their nerves by stroking their necks and talking quietly to them, though perhaps they only succeeded in transmitting their own nervousness to their animals.
I signalled for the horse to move forward, to the rear of the ‘pig’s head’. Eight hundred men and their horses ambled forward as the Romans got closer. I was in the front rank of the first group, Rhesus beside me, in the centre of the line. We were close to the last rank of Thracians, many of whom looked back nervously at the men on horses who were at their backs. Their officers barked at them to look to their front, as the crump, crump of the marching Roman army got closer. Suddenly the sound of trumpets echoed across the valley and the slave army started to move forward. From my vantage point astride Remus I could see the Romans dressing their lines, clearly prior to launching an assault, but instead Spartacus was going to launch his assault first. As the rear ranks moved forward so did we, and I held my bow over my head to signal my men to prepare to fire. I strung an arrow as the Thracian front ranks closed to within around a hundred feet of the enemy. I shot my arrow high into the sky in a wide arc, as eight hundred others did likewise. The arrows would do little damage to helmeted Romans who were able to hoist their shields over their heads, but while they were concentrating on protecting themselves they would be unable to throw their pila. And so it was, for as the arrows disappeared into the Roman ranks the leading ranks of the Thracians threw their pila, drew their swords and then sprinted forward to stab at their opponents, using their shields as individual battering rams. The Roman shield was an amazing item: three layers of oak or birch glued together with wooden reinforcing strips added to the back and faced with thin leather. In the middle is cut a circle, across which is placed a metal bar for holding the shield. Over the carrying bar, on the side facing the enemy, is a metal plate with a round, bulging boss, which can be used to smash into an opponent in a close-quarters fight.
The following Thracian ranks also charged, and immediately the air was filled with the shouts and screams of men killing and being killed. The air was thick with javelins and arrows, for the Romans had their own archers and though their range was inferior to that of our own bows, some still found their mark, hitting exposed limbs and faces. The Thracian rear ranks move steadily forward, a sure sign that the front ranks were cutting their way through Roman flesh and bone. I glanced to my left and right and saw that the slave line was still edging forward, though not at the rapid rate of the Thracians. Already men were ferrying the wounded to the rear, to be treated by those trained in medical care.
We could not fire any more arrows for fear of hitting our own men, so all we could do was wait. Time seemed to move slowly and I started to get concerned. If Spartacus did not break the enemy then we would be mere spectators to the slaughter. The sound of thousands of men doing battle was like a deep and constant roar, though occasionally a high-pitched scream could be heard as a sword or spear pierced flesh. Then a great cheer reached us and the Thracians in front of us increased their forward advance. The Roman line had given way! Spartacus was through. As the great wedge of Thracians ground its way forward, a large gap suddenly appeared on its left flank. In the chaos of combat the ‘pig’s head’ had actually veered right, but it was enough.
I turned and yelled at those behind me, ‘for Parthia!’ Then I d
ug my knees into Remus’ flanks. He sprang forward. My men cheered and followed me as I steered Remus towards the ragged gap that could have been no more than two hundred feet across and was filled with dead and dying men. I galloped past a century of disorganised legionaries which was being assailed from the front. At the same time it was also trying to form a line of shields on its left flank which was now hanging in the air. They were too late. I shot one legionary in the chest as my men poured arrow after arrow into the densely packed soldiers as they passed. Then my three hundred horsemen were behind the Roman lines as the ‘pig’s head’ continued to wheel right and began grinding its way into the side of the Roman army’s newly created left flank. Attacked in the front and on the flank, I surmised that it would not be long before that part of the Roman army would break. I wheeled my men right to take them behind the Romans. We totalled only eight hundred cavalry, but caused panic as we thundered along the rear of the Roman formations and peppered them with arrows. Nergal told me afterwards that many Romans had not realised that our horsemen were the enemy and had at first ignored them, only to be shot in the back. Indeed, so easy had been the shooting that many of his men had exhausted their arrows long before the Romans had realised their mistake.
I saw a group of Roman horsemen ahead, some holding banners and others dressed in helmets similar to mine but with red plumes instead of white. They were the general and his staff. I called my men to follow me as I spurred Remus towards them. We attacked in a wedge formation, six ranks deep, fifty men in each rank. The Romans saw us, but instead of deploying to attack, they turned and attempted to flee. Their steeds were swift, no doubt the finest breeds money could buy, but our mounts were just as quick and they could not outrun our bows. Arrows hit speeding riders and horses as we closed on them. Some men were thrown from their mounts when their horses were hit, others slumped in their saddles as one or more arrows pierced their flesh. One or two Romans halted and turned, no doubt intending to fight us with their swords. They were shot and killed before they had a chance to use their blades. I saw one officer, a man with a bright red cloaking around his shoulders, riding furiously away. I screamed at Remus, who galloped as though there was a demon chasing him, his eyes wide and nostrils flared. I closed on the Roman, who glanced back at me and kicked at his horse furiously to speed him up. But I was close enough to him now. He glanced back one last time and must have known that he would not escape. I released the bowstring and he screamed as the arrow went through his cloak, through his armour and into his back. He crashed to the ground, dead.
I signalled for the horns to recall the men, and minutes later we were trotting back towards the battle, except that the battle was coming to us, for in front of us were hundreds of Roman soldiers! I was momentarily gripped by panic, but then realised that many of the Romans had no weapons or shields. They were fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them.
‘Halt,’ I shouted to my men. ‘Stand still and shoot them as they pass. They will not fight; they are running.’
We quickly deployed into one long line and shot at the Romans as they neared us. We must have cut down two or three hundred before those following veered right and left in an effort to avoid us. By now the whole plain was dotted with running Romans, but what caught my eye were more Roman horsemen, a small group who seemed to have retained their discipline. One of them was riding among the fleeing Romans with his drawn sword, shouting and cursing at them. Then I recognised him – Lucius Furius.
‘Follow me,’ I ordered as I kicked Remus forward. I made straight for Furius. This time he would not escape.
‘Stand, stand, you cowards,’ he was shouting at the top of his voice, to no effect.
I strung an arrow as I neared him, but before I could release it one of his men shouted a warning to him. He turned, saw me and ducked in the saddle as the arrow shot over him and into one of his men. He turned his horse and headed towards me as his command was shot to pieces. I shoved my bow back into its case and drew my sword – shooting him would be too easy. We charged straight at each other, but instead of attacking me with his sword as we closed he threw himself at me and we both tumbled to the ground in a heap. I was momentarily stunned, the wind was knocked out of me, but I staggered to my feet as he did likewise. He drew his sword and lunged at me. My sword, knocked out of my hand, lay several feet away so I pulled my dagger and tried to parry his blade with it. But our duel was interrupted when an arrow slammed into his right thigh. He screamed and clutched at his leg, dropping his sword as he did so. I walked over to where my sword lay and picked it up. But before I could get close to him and finish him off, more Roman cavalry appeared and closed around him. By now my men were also forming up around me and were shooting Romans from their saddles. But Furius escaped with my arrow sticking out of his leg, his horse led away by a subordinate.
Around us screaming Gauls hurtled past, cutting down any Roman they encountered with glee. I remounted Remus as Nergal and Burebista arrived.
‘A great victory, highness,’ beamed Nergal. ‘The Romans are destroyed.’
‘Well done,’ I said to them both, and then I saw Praxima ride past us, accompanied by Gallia. I cursed with fury. ‘Take the men and help hunt down the Romans,’ I told Nergal. ‘Remember, those you let escape you will have to fight again.’
‘Yes, highness. Where are you going?’
‘To hunt down a more troublesome prey,’ I replied. ‘Now go.’
As my men reformed and galloped off to join the pursuit, I followed two riders who were endeavouring to reach the fleeing Romans. Some groups of legionaries had attempted to halt and form themselves into centuries, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded, and were soon assailed from all sides and cut down. I shuddered as I saw Gauls hacking the heads off some dead Romans and carry them off as trophies. I caught up with the two women just as Gallia loosed an arrow that hit a running centurion in the back, sending him crashing to the ground. My chest filled with pride at her marksmanship. Then Praxima halted her horse, jumped from the saddle onto a Roman soldier and in one deft movement drew her dagger and slit his throat. I drew Remus up in front of them and removed my helmet.
‘Stand still, both of you. What in the name of all that’s sacred do you think you are doing?’ I bellowed.
‘Killing Romans,’ came Praxima’s calm reply.
Gallia looked away from me, strung another arrow and released the bowstring. I turned to see a Roman, who must have been at least three hundred feet away, spin to the ground as he was hit. Praxima screamed with delight and clapped her hands.
‘Like my friend told you,’ said Gallia, ‘we are killing Romans.’
I pointed at Praxima. ‘Get on your horse. Now!’
She shrugged and vaulted onto her horse’s back. I then rode Remus over to her horse, gathered its reins, did the same to Gallia’s horse, and then led them both back to camp and away from danger.
‘No more killing Romans today,’ I told them.
‘Release us,’ said Gallia.
‘No.’
‘Why not? The Romans are running.’
I halted and turned to face her. She and Praxima wore cavalry helmets with large cheek guards fastened beneath their chins. They both sat proudly in the saddle and Gallia looked as beautiful as ever in her boots, tight-fitting leggings and tunic. If it had been a training exercise I would have been lavishing praise on them both, but it wasn’t and I didn’t.
‘Running men can still stop and kill women,’ I hissed. ‘And besides, I ordered you to stay with Godarz and Gafarn. That’s why.’
‘Are you going to beat us, lord, for our insolence?’ said Praxima, laughing.
‘Are you going to put us over your knee and spank us?’ added Gallia.
The latter option was most appealing. I said nothing. By now the slaughter had moved on and we threaded our way through dead and dying men, mostly Romans, where the battle had been fiercely contested for a while as each side stabbed and hacked at their opponents. Th
en there were the bodies of those who had tried to run, with telltale wounds to their backs. I talked quietly to Remus as he threw up his head nervously when he heard the cries and moans of those who lay on the ground, some with bellies slit open and their entrails lying on the grass, others with gaping head wounds. Some sat up and staring in disbelief at a severed arm or leg lying next to them, oblivious to their lifeblood gushing away from a leg stump or arm socket. The women were silent now; it was undoubtedly the first time that they had seen the gory aftermath of a battle.
I found Godarz and Gafarn sitting on the ground with the other members of the reserve, close by their tethered horses. My anger rose as I thought of what might have happened to Gallia, and then evaporated as the men jumped to their feet and started to cheer me wildly. Gafarn raced over as I handed the women back their reins and then dismounted.
‘Victory, highness,’ he beamed.
‘A great day,’ added Godarz, who shook my hand.
Others gathered round me and offered their hands. Their faces were full of admiration and joy, and I had to admit that I was proud to be their leader. Even though they themselves had not fought, they had obeyed their orders and stayed where they were. At least most of them did. When the commotion had died down I pulled Godarz and Gafarn aside and asked them to explain the presence of Praxima and Gallia on the battlefield.
‘They must have worked it out beforehand, highness,’ said Gafarn.
Godarz continued. ‘Diana came to us both and said she felt unwell, then promptly fainted. So we attended to her and in the excitement Gallia and Praxima slipped away. It was a while before we even noticed that they had gone. They’re a sly pair and no mistake.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. There was little point in reprimanding them, and in any case it would have been mean-spirited to do so in such propitious circumstances. I thanked them both and then left them to find the truants. I found them, plus Diana, by some water troughs, congratulating each other as they were taking the saddles off their horses. Gallia had removed her helmet and unplaited her hair. She looked as alluring as ever.
‘I congratulate you, ladies, on your stratagem,’ I said, ‘though perhaps next time you might like to obey orders like the rest of my horsemen.’
‘We are not standing idly by when the Romans are so close,’ said Gallia with fire in her eyes.
‘We have won a great victory, so let us give thanks for that. As for you two, all I am asking is that you obey orders. You can’t have an army without discipline.’
'You are a great leader of horsemen, lord,’ said Praxima, out of the blue, ‘and we are proud to serve with you.’ She then knelt and bowed her head.
Her flattery caught me at a disadvantage and I felt myself blushing.
‘Well, I, er. I have to report to Spartacus,’ I stammered, beating a hasty retreat. Once again they had outwitted me. Perhaps I ought to make them officers. I dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Remus was blown, so I left him with Godarz and the attendants, along with my helmet, cloak and bow and borrowed his horse to find Spartacus. The emotional rush of combat was leaving me now and my limbs began to ache, though they did not shake. I rode through groups of soldiers making their way back towards their tents. It was a mark of the discipline that had been instilled in the army that they were still in their centuries, albeit the ranks looked a little ragged. Some were bandaged, other had cuts to the face and head, but most seemed to be unhurt and all were in good spirits. I found Castus with his Germans and called after him. I caught up with him, dismounted and we embraced. He had a cut over his right eye.
He slapped me hard on the shoulder. ‘Not a scratch on you. Did you see any fighting?’
‘Not as much as you, obviously,’ I said.
‘Some bastard Roman tried to shove his sword through my eye but I skewered him first. It was bloody work at the start, then they broke and suddenly I was running as fast as a hare trying to catch the bastards. They dropped their weapons and ran. Amazing. I think some of my boys are still running after them. I left Cannicus to sort them out and bring them back in. Thought I should report to Spartacus, if he’s here that is.’
Behind us I could hear the distinctive growl of Akmon. ‘Pick your feet up. Just because you’ve enjoyed a bit of butchery doesn’t mean you can slouch.’
We moved aside as he passed, leading a large column of his Thracians that had been chasing after the fleeing Romans. Behind him, being carried on a litter, was the body of a dead Roman.
‘Still alive, then,’ he called to us. ‘You two might want to have a look at this.’
‘Where is Spartacus?’ I asked.
‘In his tent, being patched up by his woman, I suppose.’
‘He is hurt?’ asked Castus, in alarm.
‘Nothing serious,’ replied Akmon.
Later, in camp, we found Claudia stitching Spartacus’ left arm with a needle and twine, the big Thracian sat in a chair drinking wine as she did so. He seemed annoyed rather than in pain. He nodded to me and Castus as we entered, then frowned as the litter carrying the dead Roman was brought in and placed on the floor in front of him.
‘I don’t want dead bodies in my tent,’ said Claudia.
‘Pardon, lady,’ said Akmon, ‘but this dead body is important.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Spartacus.
Akmon handed Spartacus a scroll covered in blood. ‘We found him face down with an arrow in his back and this in the saddlebag of his horse. Says his name is Consul Publius Varinius, charged by the people and senate of Rome to destroy the slave rebellion.’
Spartacus got out of his chair and examined the body, which was laid face down on the litter.
‘That’s my arrow, I think,’ I said.
‘Well,’ smiled Spartacus, ‘it would appear that Pacorus has killed a consul.’
‘What’s a consul?’ I said.
‘Like a king,’ replied Spartacus.
‘They’ll not take this lightly,’ warned Akmon.
‘No indeed,’ said Spartacus, straightening and wincing in pain. ‘Cut the head off and stick it on a pole a mile down the road.’
‘Can you take it away now,’ said Claudia, ‘it’s disgusting.’
Spartacus signalled for the bearers to haul it away, then sat back down and held his left arm.
‘Getting slow in your old age?’ said Akmon.
‘I’ll never be as slow as you, Akmon. There’s wine on the table.’
We greeted Claudia and helped ourselves to the drink.
‘Castus, pass my thanks on to your men,’ said Spartacus, ‘they did well today.’
‘Thank you, lord.’
‘Yours too, Pacorus,’ he added, ‘though I thought that volley of arrows you fired before we charged was going to land on us. I would have preferred some warning’
‘My men know how to shoot, lord,’ I said.
‘Anyhow, Crixus and his men are still chasing the Romans, I believe. Tomorrow there will be a council of war. There is much to do. Do we have any idea of casualties?’
‘Most of my men are still pursuing Romans,’ I said, ‘but I believe we suffered few losses.’
‘Cannicus is taking a count of my men now,’ said Castus.
‘One thing’s for sure’ added Akmon, ‘the Romans have suffered more than us.’
Indeed they had. Nergal and Burebista came in three hours later, to rapturous applause from the camp. The men’s horses were lathered in sweat and some had wounds. I ordered that they be attended to immediately. Nergal’s hair was matted with sweat and grime and his face was dirty, but he was beaming with pleasure as he told me of his pursuit of the Romans and the accompanying slaughter. He threw a Roman standard, a pole with a square red flag near the top, at my feet, as did Burebista.
‘We found these lying on the ground, highness,’ said Nergal.
‘You have both done well, this is your victory,’ I replied. ‘Get your horses seen to and then get some food inside you. Then you can both take these standards to Spartacus, wit
h my compliments.’
Nergal beamed and Burebista reached over and slapped him on the back. There is nothing more infectious than victory.
Our own losses amounted to five dead and thirty wounded, none seriously. All the dead were brought back to camp and cremated that night on a huge pyre, the flames lancing high into the darkness. The entire camp gathered to pay their respects and I said a silent prayer to Shamash for bringing us victory. I stood next to Gallia and watched the bodies of our comrades being consumed by fire. She had combed her hair and changed into a loose-fitting green tunic and brown leggings. Praxima and Diana had likewise changed and no longer looked like women warriors, rather examples of feminine beauty. Diana stood between Gallia and Gafarn, Praxima, her arms around Nergal’s waist, next to Gallia.
‘That could have been you,’ I whispered into Gallia’s ear as we watched the flames.
‘Or you,’ she hissed.
‘It’s my task to fight, not yours.’
‘You are not mine to command,’ she said.
‘I do not command. I ask.’
The timber crackled as the flames ate away at it, spewing cinders into the sky.
‘And I ask you for the right to fight at your side.’ She turned to look at me, her eyes pleading and her voice seductive. ‘You would not deny me that right, would you? We are friends, are we not?’
I knew I would never win this argument, so I told her that we would discuss it at another time. Despite my aches and pains I could not sleep that night, so in the early hours I dressed and walked out of the camp, beyond where the guards were pacing to where the battle had taken place. There was silence now, for those who had been detailed to collect our wounded and kill any injured Romans they found, had finished their tasks. Better a quick death from a slit throat than being tortured by Crixus’ Gauls, I thought. The dead would be stripped tomorrow and the weapons of the Roman army collected. It should be a rich haul, and would go a long way to fully equipping our army.
I don’t know how long I walked for, but I suddenly became aware that it was cold. The clouds had departed to leave a clear, moonlit night. I gathered my cloak around me and then saw a solitary figure standing like a statue ahead. I made sure I had attached my sword before I walked towards him. As I drew closer I recognised the strong profile and broad shoulders of Spartacus.
‘Lord?’
As fast as lightning he turned and drew his sword to face me, then relaxed as he saw who it was.
‘Couldn’t sleep either, eh?’
‘No, lord. How is your arm?’
‘It’s just a scratch.’
He replaced his sword in its scabbard, and then turned to stare into the distance once more.
‘Hard to believe there was a battle here. It’s so quiet.’
I looked at the corpses heaped on the ground as far as the eye could see.
‘A grim harvest,’ I mused.
He smiled. ‘This is nothing compared to what is coming. Until now the Romans thought that they were dealing with a few ill-armed slaves. But after today they know that they have a real war on their hands. From this point on they will be hell-bent on avenging the gross insult we have dealt them. When news reaches Rome of their defeat they will send a new army, and it will be larger and better led.’
‘Then we shall need a bigger army,’ I said.
‘Indeed we shall.’ He sighed and turned to walk back to camp. ‘Come on, let’s have some warm wine. How’re Gallia and Diana?’
‘Despite my orders, Gallia rode into battle.’
Spartacus laughed out loud. ‘She’s feisty, that one.’
‘She shot a Roman centurion and killed another legionary with her bow.’
‘She’ll want to fight again, now she’s got a taste for it.’
‘That is what I’m afraid of,’ I said.
‘In this war, Pacorus, every man and woman with us is fighting for their life. The Romans will make no distinction between the sexes if we lose. They nail women to crosses as well as men, children too for that matter. So let her fight if she so chooses.’
I remained unconvinced but held my tongue.
‘Oh, I meant to tell you,’ said Spartacus. ‘Oenomaus was killed today, a pilum through his throat. So that’s one less Gaul for you to worry about.’
‘Good, that only leaves about five thousand. And Crixus?’
‘It will take more than a few Romans to kill him. I heard about your little spat. I don’t want you two squaring up to each other again. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, lord, but you had better tell him that.’
‘I will.’ He looked towards the east. ‘Dawn’s breaking. Should be a nice day.’