Spartacus spoke first. ‘Welcome, Pacorus. I am glad to see you on your feet again.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, ‘and thank you for releasing me and my men from our bonds.’
‘Your servant speaks Latin well,’ continued Spartacus, ‘and he has been telling me a little about how you came to be in Italy. But perhaps you could enlighten us further.’
‘If I can, lord.’
‘Ha, he’s no lord, boy,’ the big man had a voice as big as his frame. He slapped Spartacus hard on the shoulder. ‘He’s a killer, trained by the Romans to entertain them on special occasions. He’s a Thracian, which in the order of things is below a Gaul but,’ he leaned forward and smiled at the man with the long face, ‘above a German. Isn’t that right, Castus?’
‘I’ve been remiss,’ said Spartacus, ignoring the interruption. ‘I must introduce you to everyone.’ He turned to the big man. ‘This is Crixus, a brawler from Gaul who was rescued from his life of tending pigs by the Romans, who introduced him to the art of killing men with a sword. One day he might be good at it.’ Crixus sniffed in mockery. Spartacus turned to the other man. ‘This is Castus, who the Romans took when they raided his village and found him sleeping off a hangover.’
‘Bastard Romans, we signed a treaty with them and they agreed not to cross over the river into our territory,’ there was a genuine look of indignation on Castus’ face. ‘We are a people who respect treaties, but the Romans just broke it like a shot.’
‘Imagine that,’ said Crixus, mockingly.
‘What is your story, Pacorus?’ asked Spartacus.
So I told them, of how we were raiding into Cappadocia, of how Bozan had been killed and we had been captured. I told them about Hatra and the Parthian Empire, and how my father had led another raid into Syria. I must confess I was slightly nervous concerning their intentions towards me, and was reluctant to tell them all about me. Spartacus looked down at the table and occasionally nodded as I relayed my tale. He abruptly looked up at me.
‘And who is your father?’
‘His name is Varaz,’ I replied.
Spartacus leaned forward and fixed me with his hawk-like eyes. ‘That would be King Varaz, would it not, Prince Pacorus?’
‘Son of a king, eh. He should fetch a nice ransom,’ quipped Crixus.
‘Much gold to equip our army,’ mused Castus.
I was indignant. It appeared that I had escaped one lot of gaolers only to land in the midst of a set of cutthroats. I leaned forward and tried to look purposeful, staring directly at Spartacus.
‘I will not be treated like an animal. You saw fit to free me from my chains. I have to tell you that you will not be putting any back on me. I am just one man, but I will fight each and any of you. Give me a sword and I will show you how a Parthian fights.’
It was, I thought, a brave speech, though in my weakened state I wouldn’t have lasted long fighting any of them, let alone all three. I prayed for a quick death at least. Spartacus looked at first Crixus and then Castus. Spartacus and Castus burst into laughter. Crixus sat stony faced.
‘We don’t want spoilt, royal bastards who have slaves to wipe their arses,’ he spat.
‘We need all good soldiers we can get our hands on,’ said Spartacus.
‘He can’t be that good if the Romans captured him,’ replied Crixus.
‘They captured you too, didn’t they?’ I said. ‘What does that say of you?’
Crixus jumped up and glared at me. ‘Why don’t we see who is the best, here and now.’
‘Sit down, Crixus.’ Spartacus’ words were stern.
Crixus did as he was told, fixing me with a hateful stare as he did so.
‘We want you and your men to join us, Pacorus.’
‘Not all of us,’ mumbled Crixus.
‘Join you?’ I was somewhat taken aback. They were hardly my idea of a disciplined army.
‘We will not sway you either way,’ said Spartacus. ‘But we might be your best hope of getting home. You are, after all, in Italy, and a long way from Parthia. Fight with us and you might see your family again.’
‘And what do you fight for?’ I asked.
Spartacus smiled. ‘The same thing that you used to take for granted, my young prince. Freedom. The freedom from a life of bondage and cruelty. The same cruelty that you yourself have experienced, if only for a while. Am I not flesh and blood like you? Am I not a man that deserves to life his life free from the whip and branding iron?
‘Do your men follow you because they are loyal or because they fear you? Will you let them decide their own fate or will you be as a tyrant to them? You think we are base because we were slaves, I can see it in your eyes. But do not slaves have thoughts, dreams, fears and the capacity to love? Few of us were born slaves, Pacorus, and yet Rome saw fit to condemn us to a life of servitude. You have killed Romans to defend your home; why shouldn’t we be allowed the same privilege?
‘Our plan is to organise ourselves here, around Vesuvius, and then march north to the Alps. Once there we will cross over the mountains and then head for our homes. I have no doubt that the Romans will try to stop us, but we will fight them every inch of the way if necessary. All we wish is to be out of Italy and never to see any Roman again.’
‘My people lived in peace until the Romans butchered most of my village and forced the survivors into slavery,’ added Castus, the pain clear in his voice.
‘I can still see the corpses of my friends with Roman spears stuck in them,’ spat Crixus.
‘Whatever your decision,’ continued Spartacus. ‘We will respect it. Do not decide now. Think on it, discuss it with your men.’
The conversation was at an end, so I nodded, rose from the chair and made to leave.
‘One more thing,’ said Spartacus. ‘Your slave.’
‘Gafarn?’ I replied.
‘Yes. He too is free. He is your slave no longer. He may follow you of his own volition, but you have no sway over him. There are no slaves in this camp.’
I never thought of Gafarn as being a slave, though of course he was. We had been companions for so long that I thought of him as, as what? A friend? I knew not, because I had never had to think about it. I assumed he would always be with me.
‘Yes, lord,’ I replied.
‘Oh, and Pacorus,’ said Spartacus.
‘Lord?’
‘You don’t have to call me lord.’
When I returned I gathered my men and we sat on the ground. The afternoon sun was beginning its decline in the west and disappear behind Vesevius’ crater as I explained to them the offer made by the slave leader. They, like me, wished to return home, but we were faced by a host of difficulties. We had been brought to Italy by boat and were in the south of the country. It would be almost impossible to return home by the same method of transport, as we had no boats. That meant we would have to go across land, land that was the enemy’s heartland. From what little I could remember from the maps I had seen, and which I doubted were accurate, Italy was a long land that ran north to south, and we were in the south. They listened intently as I explained that the slaves were marching north to some mountains called the Alps, after which they would disperse to their homelands. I told them that each of them was free to make their own decision as to their course of action, for I was no longer their lord and commander but just a man like them, intent on seeing Hatra again. I looked at Byrd, who was not one of us and who had lost his family and his home. What would his decision be? Most of them were of a similar age to me, though whether they had wives and children I knew not. In fact, the more I thought of it the more I realised that I had never known anything of the men I had led into battle. They were just soldiers, men on horses carrying spears or bows who obeyed orders, who sometimes died carrying out those orders. But here, in this volcanic crater in an alien land, they suddenly were not faceless individuals. They were fellow Parthians, comrades in arms. Dare I think a sort of family?