‘You see, what you don’t understand is that I have to think about the wider picture.’
‘The wider picture, sir?’
‘Indeed, centurion. How long have been in the army?
‘Twenty years, sir.’
‘You see, twenty years killing barbarians and all and sundry with a sword has blinkered you. I, on the other hand, have responsibilities, both to myself and to Rome. I have considerable estates in southern Italy. Estates that have to be worked to produce a profit. And who is going to work my estates, for they don’t work themselves?’ He gestured towards us. ‘Slaves, centurion. Slaves are the key. These are valuable chattels that I intend to put to good use on my land. You want to nail them to crosses, whereas I want them to produce a healthy profit before they leave this life. Have I explained myself clearly enough?’
The centurion looked bored and resentful. ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied curtly.
The elderly Roman turned to his other companions, who had been eagerly listening to his little lecture. By the look of them, all appeared to be in their early twenties, clean-shaven and well dressed, I surmised that they too were officers of some sort.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘after our victory I think we deserve a celebratory banquet.’ He waved over another soldier who was standing a few feet behind the group. The soldiers stood before the man and snapped to attention.
‘Legate.’
So the old man was a legate, though I knew not what this was, but of some importance for certain as he was the centre of attention.
‘Arrange a banquet for this evening in my tent.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The soldier turned and marched away. The legate and his group followed in the same direction. The legate then stopped and looked back at the centurion.
‘And feed them something,’ he nodded at our group. ‘I don’t want any of them dying before they even reach Italy.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the centurion. Then the legate was gone. The centurion scowled at his back. ‘The sooner you’re back in Rome, playing with your boy slaves, the better,’ he spat he words with bitterness.
He turned to look at us. His sword was sheathed, and in his right hand he carried some sort of cane, which he was tapping lightly against his thigh. He walked slowly up to us and halted in front of me. We were still all seated on the ground, with all eyes on the centurion. As I looked at him he placed the tip of his cane under my chin.
‘You long-haired little bastard. If I had my way, you and your all bandit friends would be nailed to crosses by now. That’s the penalty for killing Romans where I come from. But the barrel of fat who commands this legion has decided that you are going on a little journey.’ He then drew back his cane and hit me across the face with it. The blow had a vicious sting that sent me reeling. Gafarn made as though he was going to spring at the Roman, but I shook my head at him.
‘Who’s this, then,’ the Roman said, looking at Gafarn, daring him to attack him, ‘your lover?’
He spat on me and then squatted down so his face was near mine. ‘There’s a long way between here and Italy, and I guarantee that the route will be littered with your corpses. Savages. You don’t even understand what I’m saying, do you?’
He stood and marched away. I was somewhat demoralised, but tried to hide my despondency.
‘Are you hurt, highness?’ asked Gafarn.
‘No,’ I said, feeling the side of my face, which was throbbing with pain.
‘What was he saying?’
‘He’s annoyed that he can’t execute us.’
‘What are they going to do with us, highness?’
‘We are going to Italy, apparently, to do some sort of work.’
‘Where is that?’ asked Gafarn.
‘A long way from Parthia.’
Surprisingly, the Romans fed us that night. The food was a sort of thick porridge, and I passed orders that everyone was to eat as much as they gave us, as I didn’t know when we would get fed again. They also gave us copious amounts of water, which I was glad about as I had had nothing to drink since early that morning. Then the Romans threw us loaves of bread, which were hard and stale. Again, I ordered that we should eat as much as we could. The centurion was stalking around like a wolf, delivering the occasional kick to one of my men but generally keeping away. I could see that he was an individual who was full of anger. Later that evening, as we were preparing to get some rest, he stomped over and squatted before me. For some reason, he had picked me out as a target of his wrath, which unnerved me I had to admit. For a few moments he just glared at me, and I was aware of Gafarn fidgeting next to me, which made me even more nervous. I sat up and tried to match his stare, though I was in a position of helplessness and he had supreme power over me. He reeked of ale.
‘So, pretty boy, you and your band of thieves will be making a journey to the sea tomorrow.’ Did he realise that I could understand him? Surely he must. And yet, perhaps he was just giving voice to his thoughts. ‘It is my misfortune that I have been ordered to take you back to Italy. My misfortune and yours.’
He stood up and whipped the end of his cane under my chin. He then forced me to stand. He grabbed my hair with his left hand, twisting it painfully as he pulled my face toward his, until we were only inches apart.
‘You’d better pray to whatever miserable god you worship that my temper improves, otherwise I guarantee that the road will be littered with your carcasses.’
He then threw me to the ground and marched away.
‘More bad news, highness?’ queried Gafarn.
‘Yes. But it appears that our centurion friend is going to be our escort from tomorrow. Pass the word that we should be wary of him. We must do everything to avoid any conflict with the guards.’ I saw the forlorn look on Gafarn’s face. ‘Don’t worry, an opportunity will arise for us to make a bid for freedom, but for the moment we must bide our time.’
I was lying, of course, but better to offer a glimmer of hope than none at all.
The next day we were disturbed early by a host of legionaries, who used their feet to waken us from our slumbers. As we stood bleary eyed and with aching limbs, we were ordered to form into a column, four abreast. I was in the front rank. Then each of us was chained to the man in front and behind, so that not only did we have manacles on our wrists, but also one on our left ankles.
‘Be strong, soldiers of Parthia,’ I shouted, ‘Shamash will protect us.’ As soon as the words had left my mouth a cane was lashed across my face, causing a shooting pain that made me feel sick. The centurion’s face was contorted with rage.
‘Silence, you sons of whores. The next one who says anything gets a flogging.’
Satisfied that his example had done the trick, we were then shoved forward by the guards who flanked us to begin our march. The pace was slow, though we had had no breakfast and I wondered when our first rest period would be. After two hours our column was joined by another group of slaves, who included women and children. They too were formed into a long column, in front of us, and ordered to march. I estimated their numbers to be around fifty. And so we trudged for another two hours, along a dirt track through an arid landscape dotted with trees and bushes. The sun was up and the heat was increasing, which made my mouth dry, though as I observed the column of captives ahead I wondered how long it would be before one of them got into difficulties. We were soldiers and in our prime, but they appeared to be civilians, at least the women and children were.
It must have been around noon, with the sun burning our faces, when a woman who was at the rear of her column suddenly dropped like a stone. The man who was shackled to her in front stopped as he felt the dead weight on his ankle, and within seconds the whole group had shuffled to a halt. A guard went over to the prostrate figure on the ground and examined her roughly, grabbing her hair and bellowing at her to stand up. As she was a local, I doubted whether she understood what he was saying, though if she were still conscious she would have got the gist of what he was shouting. He yanked her to her feet, but as soon as he let go she fell to the ground again. She was clearly totally exhausted. The centurion, who had been marching at the head of the column, arrived to see what the hold-up was. He looked at the woman and ordered her to be unshackled. Perhaps he was not a monster after all. Another Roman ran up with a small hammer and chisel and released her from her chains, taking them away. The centurion then whipped out a dagger from a scabbard on his belt, bent down and slit the woman’s neck. She made a faint gurgling sound as the red liquid oozed from the wound onto the ground. I stared in horror as he looked up at me and grinned. He then barked an order to his men who shoved the other captives forward, leaving the body in the road. Soon the air was filled with the wails of frightened people who had witnessed the murder. The guards, annoyed at the commotion, began using their shields to shove and push individuals forward. We Parthians walked along grim faced, passing the corpse whose lifeblood was seeping into the earth.