‘What happened to the centurion?’ I asked.
‘Spartacus had him crucified in front of the Romans as they were erecting their fortifications.’
‘Horses can’t charge through wooden walls,’ I said.
‘The best we can do is to create a diversion and hope to draw off some of the Roman troops, so as to weaken one part of their line,’ suggested Nergal.
Godarz shook his head. ‘No, that won’t do. For one thing the line must be at least twelve miles long. It is no use us attacking at one point and Spartacus attacking at another five miles away. We must attack at the same point as he does, only then will he stand a chance of breaking out.’
‘That’s all very well,’ I said. ‘But each attack must be coordinated to strike the same spot at the same time. That means we, or rather I, have to speak to Spartacus before anything happens.’
‘And there are eight legions between you and him,’ mused Gafarn.
‘The only way in is by boat to Rhegium,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, we must stay hidden until the plans are finalised. Crassus doesn’t realise that we are here, and so we must indulge his ignorance for as long as possible.’
I had nothing else to add and so dismissed them all, leaving me alone to reflect on the nightmare position we were now in. I sought the company of Gallia and found her with her women sharpening their swords and daggers and flighting new arrows.
‘You look troubled.’ Gallia was familiar with my moods and expressions by now, as I was with hers, and as we walked among the horses of her company tethered among linen wind breaks, I could not hide my anxiety. I told her about what had happened at Rhegium.
‘I know, Diana told us.’
‘She should have kept her mouth shut.’
Gallia was stung by my criticism of her friend. ‘Why? Do we not have a right to know what has become of our friends? Some of us have been with Spartacus longer then you.’
I ignored the jibe. ‘It will not be easy to break through those Roman defences. And even if we do, what then? Where will the army go? We will be back where we started all those months ago, and in a far worse position. We should have gone over the Alps when we had the chance.’
‘But we didn’t, so there is no point in wasting words on the matter.’
‘I knew it would end like this,’ I continued. ‘We were so close to freedom, and instead of seizing it we allowed ourselves to become deluded that we could roam through Italy at will. And this is how it turns out.’
‘Why don’t you take out your frustrations on the Romans instead of my ears,’ she said.
‘You think this is a subject for levity? It’s my cavalry that has to shed blood to save the situation.’
‘I thought it was Spartacus’ cavalry. You serve him, do you not?’
‘What? Of course, but I resent having to waste men’s lives on getting the army out of a predicament that it should never have got itself into in the first place. That stupid imbecile Afranius should be held to account for his incompetence.’
‘There is no point in all this, Pacorus.’
‘There is every point,’ I shot back. ‘You don’t understand. I have raised this cavalry and now I have to throw them against fortifications. It’s not right.’
She laughed. ‘Not right? Is that your sense of honour talking again? Would it be right to leave them where they are, to starve or to be killed by the Romans?’
‘Of course not, I was only saying that a night attack against fortifications is unsuitable for horsemen. Skulking around in the dark like a bunch of assassins.’
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what?’ I asked.
‘You prefer the idea of fighting in daylight when everyone can see your great banner and your men on their horses, cloaks flying behind them as they charge to glory.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ I retorted.
‘It’s still all a game, isn’t it? One giant exercise in honour and glory. Until now you have been the shining star of the army. Pacorus the bringer of victory, the man known throughout the enemy’s lands as “the Parthian”, perhaps even more famous than Spartacus himself. Except that now your honour demands that you must carry out something that you have no interest in.’
‘Spartacus was a fool for getting himself trapped.’
She walked up to me until our faces were but inches apart. ‘You are a fool, Pacorus. He is a great man whose force of personality has united thousands behind him. He has given you all that you desire. He even said to me that you were a fine man, even though I thought otherwise. Do not make me change my mind about you.’
I was horrified at even the thought of losing her. I looked into her eyes. ‘My words were hasty. Forgive me. Of course I will not abandon Spartacus. The cold has obviously addled my brain.’
Her expression, formerly hard and unyielding, now softened somewhat. ‘I know that you will do the right thing. And do not be angry with Afranius. He does, after all, only want to be like you.’
I laughed. ‘I suspect he dislikes me.’
‘Perhaps, but so he wants to be a victorious general like you, to be known as a great warrior.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not a great warrior.’
Her head tilted slightly as she regarded me. ‘Spartacus regards you so, and so does Castus and Akmon, and the last one is a particularly hard judge. So I hope you will not prove them wrong.’
I felt elated. ‘They really said that?’
‘Perhaps, for a great warrior, leading horses against wooden walls is not such a difficult task.’
I smiled, for she had out-foxed me. I conceded defeat. ‘Perhaps not.’
Like me she too was wrapped in a cloak, with a felt cap on her head, and her hair tied into a thick blonde plait. ‘It’s cool, isn’t it.’
‘The wind is blowing from the north and it will bring snow soon.’
‘More misery,’ I remarked.
It always amazed me that, however grave the situation, there could always be found someone to undertake the most hazardous of tasks, as long as the price was right. This proved to be the case now, as Godarz found me the means to get to Rhegium. In a dirt-poor fishing village on the Ionian coastline, where the hovels clung to the rocky outcrops that fronted the sea like limpets, he located a boat owner named Cunobarrus who, for a handful of gold pieces, would take me down the coast to Rhegium, as well as bring me back. Godarz had visited the village alone and got chatting to the inhabitants. His passed himself off as a distraught tradesman from Sicily whose terminally ill brother was trapped in Rhegium, his only wish being that his young nephew, myself, should see his father before died. The two score of people who listened to his story were mostly disinterested until he revealed the leather pouch he was carrying and its gold contents. Thus it came about that I sat in a stinking fishing boat as it bobbed among the white-flecked waves whipped up by the cool northerly wind, which filled the dirty grey single sail. Cunobarrus sat at the stern, holding the tiller, while a youth about eighteen years of age, his son I assumed, busied himself bailing seawater out of the boat’s bottom and casting glances at me. Cunobarrus was a filthy, lice-ridden individual who had obviously spent many years on the sea. His hands were calloused and his nails black, he spat frequently and his teeth were rotten. His boat was around fifteen feet in length, five foot at the beam and four feet in depth. It was held together by mortise and tenon joinery and was constructed mainly of cedar planks and oak frames, though by their varying colours I suspected that some of the wood had been used in other, older vessels before this one.
We had set off just after dawn when the sea was calm, but an hour into our voyage the wind had picked up, increasing both our speed and my misery as the boat rose and pitched on the choppy sea. Cunobarrus was delighted.