‘You can bring Remus, too. Claudia would love to see him.’
The early evening was warm as I rode him into the camp at Vesuvius. I could see that the crater was far fuller than it had been when I had first arrived. There were the tidy lines of Roman tents, plus other camps with rough earth shelters with foliage on top for makeshift roofs. Though these too were arranged in lines in a grid pattern, their building materials gave them a scruffy appearance. There also appeared to be more women than before, and even some children. The hundreds of cattle, chickens, sheep, pigs and goats had been segregated into pens that littered the fringes of the camp and also the slopes of Vesuvius. It appeared that the shepherds had brought their flocks with them. I had moved all the horses outside the camp and deployed them in the surrounding countryside. It was not healthy for so much livestock to be crowded into one place; sickness could wipe them all out. The old Roman camp, the one that Spartacus had attacked when I had been freed, had been strengthened with a wooden palisade with watchtowers at regular intervals. Spartacus had placed a garrison in the fort under the command of a fellow Thracian named Akmon, a squat, dark-haired individual who had a deep scar down the right side of his face, a souvenir of a particularly hard fight in the arena, or so Spartacus told me. He reminded me of a devilish imp that my mother had told me about when I was a child, and as I passed the camp I saw him on the palisade. I raised my hand in salute but he just stared at me with his black eyes. Spartacus had told me that he was a good fighter and loyal. It took a long time before I earned his trust.
I rode down the central avenue and came to the general’s tent. Two guards stood outside and they snapped to attention as I passed them, while an attendant took Remus from me. I had to admit that Spartacus was moulding the disparate elements of his followers into a credible force, though whether they would be able to stand up to the Romans in battle was another matter. As I entered, Claudia embraced me.
‘Welcome, Pacorus. Spartacus has been telling me how impressed he is with your cavalry.’
‘Thank you, lady,’ I said.
‘You can call me Claudia, we are all friends here. Isn’t that right, Gallia?’
I turned to see the owner of my heart standing beside the long table that ran along the far side of the voluminous tent. Her blonde hair was free and cascaded over her shoulders, which were covered by a blue sleeveless stola. Diana was dressed in white and her hair was gathered at the back of her head. I must admit that she too was attractive, though she came a poor second to Gallia. I bowed, Claudia laughed.
‘So formal, Pacorus,’ she took my arm in hers. ‘Come, let us eat.’
Spartacus entered at that moment, carrying a large plate piled high with meats. He wore no weapons, no armour and was dressed in a simple tunic. At that moment he looked like a house slave not a general.
‘Ah, Pacorus, good to see you. Sit yourself down. I hope you have a good appetite.’
Claudia led me to my seat, sat on my right side and invited Gallia to sit on my left. I was as happy as an eagle that had caught a lamb when Gallia sat beside me. Then Spartacus served us wine from a expensive silver jug, served into equally fine silver goblets. The meal was a happy occasion and for a while I could forget that I was in the enemy’s heartland and far from home. Spartacus, laughing and at ease, was far removed from the assassin of the arena and calculating commander I had witnessed at Nola. As the evening wore on and the wine took hold, he told us stories of his homeland and his boyhood, how he had been a poor shepherd tending sheep in the harsh landscape of Thrace. Tears came to his eyes as he recounted how his mother had died of the plague when he was a boy, and his father’s death from a broken heart shortly after.
‘But one day we will return to Thrace and live in peace, far away from Rome and Romans.’ He looked into Claudia’s eyes. ‘That is our dream.’
‘It is the dream of all of us,’ said Diana.
‘Not all of us,’ muttered Gallia.
‘You do not want to go home, lady?’ I asked.
She looked at me with those eyes of piercing blue. ‘There are some who have no desire to leave Italy, but would rather stay and rob and kill.’
‘I do not follow,’ I said.
‘Gallia is talking of Crixus,’ said Claudia. ‘I believe you know him.’
‘I know him,’ I said.
‘Gallia,’ interrupted Spartacus, ‘thinks that I should send Crixus away. But in truth he draws men to our cause and his Gauls would be a welcome addition to any army. We need men like Crixus if we are to defeat the Romans and leave this wretched place.’
‘He draws men like a moth to a flame, it is true,’ said Claudia, the oil lamps hanging from the centre poles highlighting her feline grace and beauty, ‘but it is not the flame of freedom that burns within you, my love. Gallia is right in her opinion of Crixus, he is dangerous.’
‘Of course he is,’ remarked Spartacus, ‘he’s been trained to kill, as have I.’
‘You kill because you have to, he kills because he enjoys it. There is a difference. You should not trust him.’
‘Enough of Crixus,’ said Spartacus, ‘he is part of this army and that’s final. You see, Pacorus, how I am assaulted on all sides by women.’
I glanced at Gallia. ‘You are indeed fortunate to be thus assailed, lord.’
Claudia saw my glance and smiled. ‘What woman would you have besieging you, Pacorus?
I could feel myself blushing and cleared my throat in embarrassment. Spartacus came to my rescue.
‘Leave him alone. He is here to enjoy himself, not to be interrogated.’
I stayed the night as the guest of Spartacus, and early the next morning rose and fed and watered Remus before I washed and ate a breakfast of warm porridge that Claudia had cooked. I liked her. At first she had seemed remote and aloof, but the previous evening had revealed her softer side, and I found her intelligent and forthright. After I had finished eating I took her to see Remus. She too fell in love with him and he returned the sentiment. He was a show-off and obviously liked attractive women; he flicked his long white tail as she stroked his neck.
‘You like her, don’t you?’ she asked, innocently.
‘Who?’
‘Gallia, who else?’
‘Well, I, that is…’
‘I hope you are not so indecisive in battle,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she has a fierce, independent will, and will not yield easily to any man. You know she’s a princess, don’t you?’
I looked at her in amazement.
‘It’s true, she is of the Senones tribe of the Gallic people, and her father is a king who decided that he could become a greater king if he formed an alliance with a rival chief. So he tried to force Gallia to marry this chief, who was three times her age. But she refused to marry the fat old man, whereupon her father bound her and took her to the nearest Roman town and sold her into slavery for defying him. She burns with anger, Pacorus.’ Claudia fixed me with her narrow brown eyes. ‘But I think that the one thing she wants most is to be able to trust again.’
It was high summer now, though even the hottest days were not as fierce as Hatra’s climate at this time of year. Spartacus increased the tempo of the army’s training, and every day the plains around Vesuvius were filled with large bodies of troops learning the drills of the Roman army. Our bows were now ready to use, but before they were issued I called all the cavalry to my headquarters. They had done well, for in addition to forming a bond with their horse, each man had to learn to handle a sword and lance on horseback. I was fortunate to have a cadre of Parthians who could impart their skills to the rest. Even those who could ride and perhaps had been trained in horsemanship had to re-learn rusty skills. In addition, Godarz had organised a unit of veterinaries, grooms and farriers, for unlike the Romans our horses had iron shoes on their feet. The cavalry now numbered eight hundred men, with a trickle of new recruits coming in each day.