‘It will be bloody getting through their defences,’ said Spartacus. ‘Before we get to the stakes their catapults mounted on top of the towers will open fire, and as we cut through the stakes they will be firing arrows at us from the towers and from firing steps on the other side of the palisade. Then we have to get across the ditches, which we will fill with bundles of brushwood. And all the time we will be under their fire. They will also put slingers on the watchtowers, who will exact a fearsome price. Then we will charge their ramparts and try to smash our way through the wooden wall, by which time a hail of javelins will be raining down on us.
‘But you, Pacorus, you hold the key to our success. The Romans will not be expecting an assault from behind, much less one conducted by cavalry. Their eyes will be looking south, and when your horsemen appear in their rear there will be panic, and when fear and uncertainty grips them, we will break through. If we don’t, we die, it’s as simple as that.’
I thought of those who would be in the front ranks of the attackers, who must approach the Roman defences and try to get through stakes and across ditches before they even reached the earth rampart with its palisade on top. They would suffer fearful losses.
‘Who will lead your attack, lord?’
‘I will, of course, and alongside me will be that young idiot Afranius and his Spaniards. After all, it is only right than the person responsible for these defences being built should be the first one to take them down.’
‘Where is our Spanish friend?’ I asked.
‘I sent him to the east coast to make a lot of noise in front of the Roman lines. Make them think that we will be attacking there rather than here, north of Rhegium.’
‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ said Akmon. ‘It will be suicide attacking that lot.’
Spartacus looked into the sky, which was still filled with tiny swirling flecks of snow. ‘Maybe not. We will attack at night and hopefully the weather will aid us.’
‘The weather?’ Akmon laughed grimly. ‘For all you know it will be still and cloudless and the entire area will be flooded by moonlight.’
‘When do we attack, Spartacus?’ asked Castus.
‘In three days. That should give Pacorus time to get his cavalry into position.’
That night I ate with Spartacus and Claudia, after taking a relaxing bath in the governor’s house in the town and ensuring that Cunobarrus was still in port. He was, enjoying the hospitality of a dingy inn near the harbour that had been requisitioned by a group of Thracians. Though Rhegium had been taken over by the army, its discipline was still impeccable and there had been no looting or wanton destruction. It was a testament to Spartacus that, despite its precarious situation, the army’s cohesion remained intact.
‘Every man still knows that his best chance of staying alive is to stay with this army. I was at fault for trusting that pirate, but there was little choice, and now that option has gone our only hope is to take Rome itself.’
Claudia sat in silence, her eyes avoiding mine. Did she think that our whole venture was now doomed? Spartacus caught me looking at her.
‘Claudia thinks I am mad for wanting to march north once again. What do you think, Pacorus? Speak freely.’
‘You have never failed us, lord,’ I said.
‘A diplomat’s answer,’ said Claudia, looking up and smiling at me. ‘But no answer at all.’
I blushed. ‘We have never been defeated yet, so why should the future be any different?’
‘Why indeed?’ she retorted. ‘Except that armies are flooding into Italy and eventually they will trap us and destroy us.’
‘Are you now general of the army, my love?’ said Spartacus irritably. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘What you should have done weeks ago when we were near the Alps.’
‘We’ve discussed that,’ he snapped. I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I could not leave the army; they wanted me to stay.’
‘No,’ she corrected him, ‘your vanity, the thing you most despise in the Romans, dangled the prospect of glory in front of your nose, and like a spoilt child bribed with a toy you could not refuse. And now we are holed up like pigs in a pen.’
Spartacus jumped to his feet and threw his cup across the tent. ‘Enough! I will not be spoken to thus. I know what I am doing.’
Claudia, her eyes aflame, remained cool and aloof, but her words were like darts aimed at her husband. ‘That is debatable, but it is plain to see that we are now longer free but are dancing to the Romans’ tune, like a tame bear in the market place.’
Spartacus threw up his hands in despair and sat back down on the couch. ‘Then, I say again, what would you have me do? We cannot sprout wings and fly to Sicily.’
Claudia rose and crossed the floor to sit beside him and took his hand. ‘I know, but your mission from now on must be to get this army out of Italy. The longer we stay the less likely the chances of us seeing our homes again. Forget Rome, for the only members of this army who will see Rome will be condemned men.’
‘First we have to get through those Roman defences,’ said Spartacus.
Claudia looked at me and smiled. ‘I think our salvation sits a few feet from us, my dear, for surely the gods have sent Pacorus for just such a purpose.’
Spartacus laughed and went to retrieve his cup. ‘You know, Pacorus, when you first came to us Crixus said that you were just a boy with long hair who would prove as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition.’
‘He was ever the poet,’ I said.
‘I was inclined to agree with him,’ he looked at Claudia, ‘but someone told me that a man on a white horse would come and be our salvation. And so it has proved to be. I am honoured to call you a friend, Pacorus.’
‘And I you, lord.’
Claudia yawned and it was clear that she was tired. I made my excuses and left them alone together, embracing Spartacus and kissing Claudia on the cheek. As I was about to exit the tent, Claudia called after me.
‘You remember your promise to me, Pacorus?’
‘Of course, lady,’ I replied.
As I walked back to the town, past rows of tents and groups of soldiers clustered around braziers, I drew my cloak around me. The wind had abated somewhat and the night sky was clear, though if anything it was colder than when the wind had been blowing. In the distance, overlooking the port, the Roman fortifications and our army, stood the brooding Sila Mountains, great granite mounds covered with vast forests that teemed with game. I stopped and listened intently. Coming from the mountains I thought I heard the howl of a wolf. I hoped it was a good omen.
The trip back to the fishing village was a nightmare — hours of tacking to and fro in a stinking fishing vessel that was being tossed around on a rough sea. There were no snowflakes; rather, icy sleet that the wind threw into our faces and which stung like small needles being driven into my flesh. Cunobarrus spent the entire journey either hurling abuse at Hosidius or taking pleasure at my discomfort. The sea was a cold, ominous grey, occasionally flecked with white when the wind ruffled the top of a wave. Cunobarrus wrapped himself in a disgusting oilskin cape when the sleet increased in intensity. He fished one out from under his bench at the tiller and threw it to me.
‘Better put this on, don’t want you freezing to death, your majesty.’ He grinned to reveal teeth black and infected gums. He was obviously intrigued as to my identity but did not enquire further.
Halfway through the journey the sleet ceased and the wind dropped, and suddenly the boat was pitching and rolling less. My stomach returned to something like normal, and I told Hosidius to serve the food that I had brought with us. Cunobarrus’ eyes lit up as the youth unbuckled the leather bag I had brought aboard, to reveal fresh bread, cheese, fruit, roasted pork and strips of salted beef. Cunobarrus rested his left hand on the tiller as he shoved a piece of pork into his mouth and began gnawing at the meat, stopping occasionally to drink some of the wine that I had also brought aboard.