‘Remember,’ I told him after he had dismissed his officers. ‘You are making merely a diversion. Don’t get yourself killed.’
‘It may be just a diversion, but we can make an impression on this Crassus that he is unlikely to forget in a hurry.’ He cast me a sidelong glance. ‘Besides, why should the cavalry grab all the glory?’
‘You think I lust only for glory.’
‘Of course, what else is there?’
I suspected that he was talking about himself rather than me. ‘Are we not fighting to win our freedom?’
‘I thought we were fighting Romans, but I accept that for some freedom is enough.’
‘But not for you.’
He displayed an uninterested expression. ‘My homeland is under the heel of the Romans, or most of it. So there is little appeal in going back to scratch a living on some sun-blasted mountain and existing like a bandit. Here, we make the Romans dance to the tune we play. War is work I like.’
‘We cannot remain an army in Rome’s breast forever.’
He sat back in his chair and filled a cup from a jug. He offered to me while he filled another. To my surprise it was water. ‘Why can’t we? Have you heard of Hannibal?’
‘He was an enemy of Rome, I believe.’
‘He and his army roamed Italy for twenty years. Twenty years! Can you imagine.’
I shook my head. ‘I do not want to remain in Italy for twenty years.’
‘Of course not. You are a prince with a kingdom to go back to. But you are not like the thousands who fight in this army. They have no homes, or if they do they are either under Roman rule or so miserable that they not worth going back to. That’s why no one wanted to go over the Alps last year. Spartacus has shown us another path, that we can stand tall and be someone.’ He stared at his cup. ‘I shall stay with Spartacus when we get to Sicily, so will my Spaniards. We have all discussed it and it is agreed. And your horsemen, what they do?’
‘They are free to follow their own conscience.’
He looked up at me. ‘And you? Will you go back to Parthia?’
‘Of course, I have a duty to my father and to my people. But not before this army is safely on Sicily.’
‘If it were up to me I would stay on the mainland and destroy the Romans, all of them.’
I decided that it was time to leave, for Afranius’ head was full of notions of great victories. ‘Keep safe Afranius, and remember that your attack is only a diversion.’
‘Ride well, Pacorus, and don’t be disappointed if we Spaniards steal a little of your glory.’
The sound of three thousand horses moving out of camp produced a low rumble, like distant thunder. In addition, accompanying us on our journey were a hundred and fifty four-wheeled carts, each one pulled by horses that were the mounts of cavalrymen, their riders sitting on the carts. And each cart was piled high with either fodder for the horses or spare arrows, tools and clothing. Each man carried a month’s rations in a bag tied to the rear of his saddle, and we would take what we could find along the way, either by hunting or looting. Each company had five carts, and I ordered that the horses pulling them should be changed every day. This meant that at any one time there were ten men not riding with their company but sitting on the carts, but it was a necessity. Each company of one hundred horses consumed a ton of fodder a day, and it was three hundred miles to Brundisium. It would take us fifteen days to reach our destination, averaging twenty miles a day. Burebista wanted us to go faster.
‘We could move at least thirty miles a day, lord, maybe more. We could be roasting the backsides of Brundisium’s citizens within nine days, maybe less. We waste time hauling these carts.’
‘They hold food for the horses,’
He was riding beside me at the head of the column. In front of us, Byrd and his scouts were as usual making sure we would not be surprised by any enemy forces along the route. Burebista himself had just returned from a flank patrol that we deployed every day. Our column was strung out over many miles and was extremely vulnerable to any sort of assault.
‘We can feed the horses along the way, there are plenty of Roman farms with fat owners in these parts.’
‘Are there, Burebista? The harvest would have been collected in the autumn of last year, and any grain and hay can easily be hidden or destroyed before we get to it. I want the horses and their riders fresh for the attack on Brundisium.’
Gallia was riding the other side of me and was taking a keen interest in what was being discussed, though she kept her counsel. Her Amazons also undertook scouting duties, and sometimes I and the rest of the men forgot that they were women. This was one such occasion.
Burebista was unconvinced. ‘There are no Romans in these parts, lord, and my dragon can take any town or village before the inhabitants have risen from their beds.’
He had obviously caught the same fever that infected Afranius, the one that banishes reason and replaces it with delusions of glory.
‘Let me tell you an old Parthian tale, Burebista. Two bulls atop a hill are looking down on a valley filled with cows. One of the bulls, young and bursting with lust, says to the older bull, his father. “Let’s run down the hill and ravish a couple of them.” The older bull then says: ‘Son, why don’t we walk down and ravish them all?” You understand what I am telling you?’
‘That Parthian bulls are in desperate need of being castrated,’ said Gallia dryly.
Burebista leaned forward and looked at her in confusion. ‘Is that what the story means, lady?’
I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter. But we will maintain this rate of march until we reach Brundisium. Just make sure we don’t have any nasty surprises along the way.’
He saluted. ‘Yes, lord.’ Then he was gone, no doubt to join the scouts and try to find some deer or boar he could hunt for amusement. I had given strict orders that villages and towns were to be avoided if possible. I wanted us to be like ghosts moving unseen through the countryside, if thirty companies of horsemen could do such a thing.
‘An interesting story,’ remarked Gallia, irony in her voice. ‘I hope all Parthian fairy tales don’t involve amorous bulls. Actually Burebista reminds me of a bull, short-sighted, all brute force and stupid.’
‘He is a good fighter, though.’
‘Have you told him that there is a home for him in Parthia should he so desire?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, proudly.
‘I’m sure the cows of your father’s herds will be delighted to hear that.’
We kept away from the coast and settlements as we moved north, skirting Caulonia, Scolacium Croton and Thurii. How long ago it seemed when we were last at the latter place, when I had nearly been killed by Roman treachery and had been saved by Gallia’s skill with a bow. From Thurii we quickly crossed the land to the burnt-out shell that was Metapontum. A few poor wretches were still living among its blood-stained and charred buildings, but they squealed in terror and fled for their lives when a patrol of Byrd’s men entered the city. They were looking for food or anything else that might assist our journey, but found nothing but the bones of the dead, still unburied from when the Gauls had attacked, and the stench of death that hung over the empty husks of buildings. I rode into the city and saw for myself the decay, smelt the nauseous odour of decay and human waste, and saw the small harbour choked with smashed and tangled boats. There was nothing for us there.