Afterwards we dispersed and went about our duties. We may each have a decision to make, but we still had to maintain discipline to make life in camp bearable. Latrines had to be dug and then filled in, water had to be fetched from nearby streams and food had to be prepared. I was still in a weakened state so after I had instructed Nergal to take the men out on a long route march the next day, I retired to my bed. Gafarn rubbed more ointment into my back, which was heeling nicely, or so he told me.
‘You’re free, Gafarn,’ I said casually as I lay on my front in the cot.
‘Free, highness?’
‘The slave leader, Spartacus, has told me that you are now free.’
‘That’s very kind of him,’ said Gafarn, nonchalantly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that you can do want you want, go where want and follow your conscience.’
Gafarn re-sealed the ointment bottle and carefully placed it back in the wooden tray on the table beside my cot.
‘We are in Italy, are we not?’
‘We are,’ I replied.
‘And we have no gold or horses.’
‘That is correct.’
‘And the Romans will be sending more soldiers to try to either kill or enslave us once more.’
‘That seems likely.’
‘To sum up, then,’ said Gafarn. ‘I am free but am in the land of my enemies, with no gold, no horse and little prospect of seeing Hatra alive.’
I said nothing. He sighed.
‘The next time I see Spartacus, I must thank him personally for this great privilege he has bestowed on me. I hardly know how to contain my excitement. Good night, highness.’
With that he was gone.
Two days later a mounted Spartacus arrived at our tents with a spare horse. He wore a mail shirt over his tunic and a shield slung over his back. We had just finished our breakfast and I was preparing to take the men out on a march. Though we had no armour or weapons we still drilled in the morning and afternoon, both to build up our strength and to keep boredom at bay. I also sent groups off to the stables to help with the care of the horses. Our assistance was gladly received, for Parthians know more about the care and breeding of horses than any other peoples.
‘Are you fit enough to ride, Pacorus?’
I was delighted by his offer. It had been many weeks since I had been in the saddle, and the chance to ride again was an offer I would not pass up.
‘Indeed, lord,’ I replied.
Spartacus pulled on the reins of the spare horse and brought her forward. She was a healthy chestnut brown Arabian mare with an arched neck and high-carried black tail that she used to brush away the flies. I took the reins and stroked the side of her head. Her eyes were bright and her coat shone in the morning sun.
‘My stable hands are indebted to you and your men for their help with our horses.’
‘No thanks are necessary,’ I said, stroking the mare’s neck. ‘We love horses and love being around them.’ I grasped one of the horns of the saddle and heaved myself onto the mare’s back. I felt a surge of elation sweep through me as I felt a horse beneath me once again. Strange to say, I also had to choke back tears — I never thought I would ride again.
‘Shall we ride?’ asked Spartacus as he nudged the flanks of his horse with his knees and trotted forward. I followed, catching up with him and riding by his side. As we rode through the camp towards the giant gash in the rock face that was the entry and exit point, I discerned that it had increased in size. There were dozens of brown tents, and other makeshift shelters made from canvas sheets with wooden supports. But all were arranged in neat rows either side of us. I saw that we were riding down what seemed to be a main thoroughfare through the camp, while leading off it right and left were smaller avenues between the tent blocks. The whole resembled the layout of a town or city.
‘Your camp is neatly arranged, lord.’
‘Laid out exactly as Roman camps are when they are on campaign.’
‘You have studied the Roman army, lord?’
‘I was in the Roman army,’ he replied.
I looked at him in surprise. He saw the expression on my face and laughed.
‘That’s right, Pacorus. I was once an auxiliary in one of their legions. Served for five years hauling a shield and spear around Germany and other parts.’
‘You were conscripted?’
‘In a way. I was young — eighteen — and after the Romans had conquered my homeland their recruiters came looking for men to serve in their army. I could ride, wield a sword and spear and I thought, why not? Thrace, the place where I come from, is poor and I could see myself spending the rest of my life looking after goats and living a miserable existence. The thought of loot and glory had some appeal. My mother had died giving birth to me and my father died of the plague when I was young, so I had no ties. So off I went.
‘It was, I have to confess, a great adventure at first. The food was passable, the pay was regular and I got to be very good with a sword.’
‘So what path led you to this place? I asked. We had passed through the camp and had reached the slope that led to the gap in the rock face, through which a steady stream of people on foot were coming and going. Most looked as though they were poor farm hands. We trotted up it and out of the great rock bowl.
‘Rome is a hard taskmaster. I soon discovered that there was very little loot to be had sitting in a wooden fort by the side of a German river. So I got bored. As an auxiliary you sign up for twenty-five years of service, and at a third of the pay of a legionary, so I decided to leave, me and a few others. We earned a living of sorts as bandits, living in the woods and robbing travellers, sometimes hiring ourselves out as mercenaries to tribal leaders. But the Romans never forget and certainly never forgive, and it was only a matter of time before we were caught. We were stupid, you see. We should have kept moving but we stayed in one place and eventually they trapped us.’
‘Why didn’t they kill you all?’ I queried.
‘Oh, they nailed a few to crosses as an example, but the Romans are a practical people. We could still be of use to them, and as we were good with weapons they sold us to be gladiators. And that’s how I ended up in these parts.’
I had more questions but decided they could wait. Now we were on the grass-covered slopes of the mountain and could see for miles around. In the distance was the sea beyond a massive plain that stretched from the slopes of the mountain to our left and right. The land we rode across was an ocean of lush grass, while in the distance I could make out large, square fields. The sky was cloudless as we rode down the slope. All around us were groups of individuals making their way towards the slave camp. In fact, the more I looked I could see that the entire landscape was dotted with figures making their way towards the crater. Two riders came galloping up and halted before us. One I recognised as Castus, the German with the long face and trimmed beard. He wore a mail shirt and carried a shield and spear, as did his companion. He acknowledged me with a nod.