‘You are burning the town, lord?’ I asked.
‘Just the amphitheatre, together with the garrison.’
‘Lord?’
‘I had them taken there, chained to the benches, covered in pitch and set alight.’ He looked directly into my eyes. ‘There are limits to my mercy, Pacorus.’
He then looked at Remus and for a moment I thought that I saw a look of alarm in his eyes.
‘A man from the east riding a white horse.’
‘Lord?’
‘Nothing,’ he snapped. ‘One more thing. We share everything that is taken from the Romans. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you did not know of my policy, but see to it that it doesn’t happen again.’
It took the rest of the day and most of the next to get the booty back to Vesuvius. There was excitement in the by now very large camp when we returned. My Parthians were pleased to see that the cavalry had returned with no losses, and were delighted to welcome Godarz among us. Though he had been a prisoner of the Romans for many years, his presence was a reminder of home and his easy manner meant he fitted in straight away. We now had enough horses to mount all my Parthians, though parties were sent out each day to collect more wild horses and any more we could ‘liberate’ from the Romans. The news of the capture of Nola must have spread far and wide, for every day more recruits arrived to swell the army. Field hands and shepherds for the most part, with a smattering of better-dressed town slaves who fancied themselves as warriors, but who had no idea of the hardships that would be required of them. The majority were Gauls and Germans, the former being jealously acquired by Crixus, whose contingent was by far the largest. But there were also Dacians who were skilled horsemen trained to fight as heavy cavalry in armour, but who also used bows similar to ours. Thracians also flocked to the banner of Spartacus, most for no other reason than he was a fellow countryman. His infamy was spreading. So many were coming in that Spartacus convened a council of war to deal with the overcrowding. The meeting was held in his large genera’s tent, a gift from the garrison of Rome, in the centre of the sprawling camp, over which hung a constant pall of smoke from hundreds of cooking fires that were lit every day. I took Nergal and Godarz with me, Nergal because he was my deputy and Godarz because he was familiar with the locality. I had made him the quartermaster of the cavalry, a position he undertook with relish. In no time he had located a number of villas that we had requisitioned as temporary stables. They had belonged to rich Pompeians, but their owners had long since vanished, either to Naples or Pompeii or to the north.
We arrived just as the afternoon sun was beginning its descent into the west. The day had been hot and the jugs of water were indeed welcome as we filed cups and slumped in leather-backed chairs with ornate arm rests, from Nola no doubt. There were no women present. As usual the chairs were arranged around the table. When all had arrived Spartacus rose and asked each of us to provide details on our contingents. Crixus, as large and odious as ever, belched loudly and rose first. Surprisingly he did not have a total lack of manners, introducing the two Gauls with him, whose hair was similarly unkempt and who also wore torques at their necks and had blue tattoos on their faces. The one who sat on the left of Crixus was named Dumnorix, a gaunt-looking man with deep-set green eyes and lank brown hair. The other individual was Oenomaus, a barrel-chested oaf who seemed less intelligent than Crixus, if that was possible. Crixus announced that he had four thousand Gauls ready to kill Romans, and he wanted the chance to prove it, berating Spartacus for not taking him and his men to Nola. Spartacus brushed aside his protests.
‘We have talked already about that,’ he said, ‘and the matter is closed.’
I smiled at Crixus who glared at me and sat back in his chair, breaking wind loudly after he had done so. Castus rose next, smiling at me as he did so, and stated that his Germans numbered three thousand, though half of them had no weapons or armour save wooden clubs and spears. Spartacus promised that the next batch of weapons would be allocated to the Germans, but he emphasised that the whole army lacked weapons and that only half of it was adequately armed. He nodded at me to give my report.
‘I have two hundred cavalry,’ I said proudly.
Crixus and his two companions burst into loud laughter.
‘Two hundred?’ thundered Crixus, ‘what use is that when we are faced by ten thousand Romans?’ He then pointed at Spartacus. ‘I warned you about this, said it was a waste of time. But you wouldn’t listen, and here’s the result.’
‘It’s quality, not quantity, that counts in battle,’ I said. ‘An ill-armed mob can be scattered easy enough by a handful of horse.’
Crixus rose from his chair, his cheeks flushed red, his axe in his right hand. ‘Careful boy, I just might lop your head off and use it as a piss-pot. It’s obviously wasted on your shoulders.’
My right hand went to the hilt of my sword hanging from the belt on my hip, just as Spartacus rose and drew his Roman short sword, called a gladius. His words came slowly but were reinforced by steel.
‘Do not draw that sword, Pacorus. Crixus, take your seat. There will be no fighting here. Since none of you has fought in a legion I will provide a short lesson. A legion consists of five thousand men.’
‘I know that,’ grumbled Crixus.
‘But did you know, Crixus, that every legion has around a hundred and twenty cavalry attached to it, to do scouting, patrols, guarding the flanks and pursuing and cutting down a fleeing enemy? Cavalry are useful to the Romans and will be useful to us. Two hundred is an excellent start.’
‘Lord,’ I said, ‘it would be most helpful if an appeal could be made for all those who can ride to join the cavalry. Horses are not a problem in these parts,’ I nodded to Godarz in appreciation, ‘but riders are.’
‘No Gaul will ride with you,’ snapped Dumnorix, prompting a guffaw from Crixus.
‘Can Gauls ride?’ I quipped.
‘Enough,’ shouted Spartacus. ‘Sit down, Pacorus. Your request is granted.’
I took my seat and stared in contempt at Crixus, who returned my disdain. As we engaged in our childish game Spartacus informed us that he had two thousand Thracians plus an assortment of Greeks, Jews, Spaniards and Africans who made up a further five hundred.
‘In two or three months’ time,’ he said, ‘we will be ready to move.’
The next day I sat in a tent with flaps open at a table with Nergal and Godarz, interviewing those who had come forth to serve in the cavalry. True to his word, none of Crixus’ Gauls was present. The majority were Germans dressed in ragged tunics with nothing on their feet. But I liked them. They were a straightforward people whose menfolk seemed to like fighting. Obviously Castus had encouraged those within his ranks who could ride to volunteer themselves. I would thank him later. There were also Dacians, a few Greeks and Spaniards, and even a few men who had fought for Mithridates of Pontus. They burned with hatred against Rome and I was pleased to accept them. When we had finished it was late in the day and Nergal and I were very pleased with ourselves. Godarz sat on a stool with a pencil and parchment. He had been keeping count of our new recruits.
‘Three hundred and two, highness,’ he said, beaming.
‘Excellent. If they all get through the training that will make five companies in all.’ I stretched back in my chair and closed my eyes. ‘A good day’s work, gentlemen.’
‘Are you still looking for recruits, Parthian?’
I opened my eyes and saw a vision of a goddess before me. It was Gallia, the one who had made my heart soar at the feast, who now stood proudly before me, her piercing blue eyes looking down at me. Up close she was even more perfect than I remembered. Her light skin was flawless, her full lips clamped shut and her blonde hair tied behind her in a long plait. She wore a blue tunic edged with white, with tan knee-length breeches and laced leather boots. At her waist was a black leather belt decorated with bronze stiffeners and studded with fasteners to allow the attachment of personal equipment. One such item was a dagger that hung on her right side. Her posture conveyed strength and determination, while her exquisite face had the look of the huntress. I was at first lost for words. I just wanted to look at her for eternity. Nergal brought me back to reality.