‘Very quiet, don’t you think?’ observed Akmon.
As we approached the town I could see that the gates were open, with smoke and flames pouring from the gatehouse above. As we got nearer I saw two dead bodies lying on the road near the gates. Akmon ordered his men to adopt a close formation and to be on their guard. I passed the word to my horsemen to have their bows ready, in case we met any resistance. Akmon’s men went into the town first and we immediately followed with arrows on our bowstrings, ready to provide covering fire if needed. But as we passed through the gates and into the town it became apparent that we would meet no resistance; indeed, I wondered if we would encounter anything alive. For bodies lay everywhere. The corpses of people killed by swords, with their tunics stained with blood where they had been run through and slashed by sharpened blades; bodies that had been bludgeoned by axes or clubs, and bodies that had been skewered by spears, the shafts left in their torsos. Blood was splashed on walls and flowed in rivulets in the streets. Some residents had been nailed to their front doors, though whether they had been alive or dead when this had been done to them I did not know. Dogs and cats had likewise been slaughtered, their carcasses lay strewn on the pavements and streets. I had never witnessed such a scene, and by the stunned silence of my men, neither had they. The stench of excrement and offal made my stomach heave, and Remus began to flick his head in alarm. I tried to calm him down as we made our way though the slaughterhouse that was once a town. We rode past a row of houses, each of which had a first-floor timber balcony supported on stone columns that extended over the pavement. From these balconies hung entire families: men, women, children and babies. Some of the bodies had been stripped naked, the women’s breasts having been severed and the men’s genitals hacked off. Blood was everywhere: on the balconies, staining the columns and splattered over the walls. So much blood.
As we neared the centre of the town we heard noises ahead. We continued on and came to the forum, as usual a large square surrounded on three sides by rows of shops and covered colonnades. A long, red-tiled building that towered over the surrounding houses occupied its fourth side. A large group of Gauls was gathered on the far side, cheering wildly, though at what I could not see. I dismounted and gave the order for the others to do the same.
Akmon and his Thracians had also filed into the forum and had formed up into two centuries in open order.
‘Looks like the Gauls are indulging in the favourite sport,’ he said. ‘Killing people.’
‘I’m going to put a stop to it.’
He eyed me with curiosity. ‘Their blood is up, and they won’t take kindly to you interfering.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I cannot allow innocent people to be slaughtered while I stand by and do nothing. It is dishonourable.’
He laughed. ‘Very well, then. Me and my boys will lend a hand if your expertise at diplomacy is found wanting.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet, young Parthian. You may still end up on the end of a Gaul’s spear.’
I marched over to the commotion. I had my bow in my right hand and my quiver slung over my shoulder. Burebista walked a few paces behind me as my men formed a line across the forum and readied their bows. The cheering died away instantly as the Gauls became aware of our presence. Their ranks parted and I could see Oenomaus sat in a large, ornate chair that had been placed in the square. He had one leg draped over one of its arms and was drinking from a richly decorated cup. He was obviously drunk. I also saw with horror a line of headless corpses lying nearby on the gravel with their severed heads lying next to them. Three grinning Gauls with bloody axes stood over the corpses, while behind Oenomaus, tied together and terrified, was a group of around twenty Romans. Obviously citizens of the town, their apparel seemed to be rich, though it was difficult to tell as they had obviously been beaten severely and their garments were ripped and bloody, and the women were naked, no doubt having been raped by their captors.
Oenomaus jumped up when he saw me. He drained his cup and held it out with an outstretched arm. One of his men refilled it. ‘You have no business here, Parthian,’ he said, menacingly. He had the thick muscular neck and curly moustache and eyebrows of his race, with blue tattoos on his arms. His voice was deep and harsh. His overbearing insolence reminded me of his master, Crixus.
I looked at the headless corpses. ‘Have not you seen enough blood, Oenomaus?’
‘We are having a competition, to see if Nammeius, Orgetorix and Epasnactus can sever a head with a single blow. So far they have done well and Orgetorix is ahead by miles, so to speak.’ There was uproarious laughter.
The Gauls banged their spears against their shields in salute. The clatter made the Roman captives shake and whimper. Akmon made his way over to where I stood facing Oenomaus.
‘It is time for the killing to stop,’ I said.
Oenomaus began to laugh. ‘Do you hear that? The prince has spoken and we must all obey. Do you want me to wipe your royal arse while I’m at it.’
More laughter erupted as the Gauls mocked me.
‘Be careful, Pacorus,’ said Akmon, ‘he’s a sly bastard and useful with a sword.’
‘So am I,’ I said, putting my bow and quiver on the ground and drawing my sword. Talking was obviously futile, so I pointed my sword at Oenomaus.
‘Fight me here, now,’ I shouted.
He wiped his mouth across his face and drew his sword. His men began cheering loudly for my death, while behind me the Parthians and Thracians responded with shouts of their own. Oenomaus had a Roman gladius and he knew how to use it. He attacked immediately, coming at me with a slightly crouched stance. My spatha was longer but it wasn’t a jabbing weapon, being designed to slash at opponents from horseback. Oenomaus believed he had the better of me at close quarters, and in truth he was no mean swordsman, delivering a succession of thrusting attacks that I deflected with difficulty. But I kept circling him so he had to keep moving. I lunged at him and he tried to disembowel me with a scything swing, but my reach was longer and his sword only sliced air. The onlookers were hurling encouragement and insults at the top of their voices, and Gauls, Parthians and Thracians had formed a large circle around us.
The minutes passed and Oenomaus began sweating heavily. He had probably been killing all morning and drinking for a long time after that, and his rapid attacks were obviously sapping his energy. I continued to keep out of his reach, waiting for my moment. He started to curse me now, demanding to know why I wouldn’t fight like a man, why I was a woman? He worked himself into a frenzy and slashed at my head repeatedly with his gladius. I caught the last blow with the edge of my blade, held his sword momentarily in place, moved forward and kicked his left knee with my foot. He screamed in pain as I jumped back and his balance faltered. In that instant I thrust the point of the spatha forward into his left thigh. He screamed again and I knew he was beaten. His face was contorted in pain and hate, but he could barely deflect my attacks as I rained down a succession of swings and thrusts. The last one knocked the gladius out of his hand, and before he could retrieve it I had the point of my sword at his throat. The cheers died down instantly.