We halted and their leader, a fat, ugly man with a bald head, ambled over. Behind me my men sat in silence on their horses. I looked past him to where a naked girl was being held down by four of his associates, each one holding one of her arms and feet. She was struggling fiercely but without success as they forced her legs apart. A fifth man walked over from where the others were sitting around a fire and stood over her. He removed his tunic and stood naked with his back to us.
‘Don’t see many soldiers in these parts,’ said their leader, looking up at me.
‘What’s going on here?’ I asked him, nodding towards where the naked man had now knelt and was about to rape the girl. They had stuffed some sort of rag in her mouth to stop her screams, but she was still writhing frantically in a futile effort to stop her imminent violation.
He looked round at the commotion behind him. ‘Oh, her. Runaway slave. Mostly when we catch runaways we brand them and return them to their owners, but this one’s pretty so we thought we’d use her for some recreational duties. We’re just about to start.’
I heard a hiss and saw an arrow slam into the back of the naked man, who collapsed forward onto the pinioned girl. I turned and saw Gallia with her bow in her hand, who was reaching into her quiver to string another arrow. Everyone was so surprised by what had happened that nobody moved. The men holding the girl just stared in disbelief at their dead comrade with an arrow in his back sprawled in front of them, while their leader’s mouth opened and closed like that of a fish out of water as he took in what had happened. Then another of Gallia’s arrows hit one of his men and he himself drew his sword. Behind him his men released the girl and grabbed their weapons, while those around the fire sprang to their feet and likewise armed themselves. They were quick, but my men were quicker and Gafarn in particular was one of the fastest archers in Parthia. He had dropped two of the gang before they had a chance to draw their swords. Beside him Diana released her bowstring and saw her arrow go through the mouth of a gang member who was charging at us with a spear. I smiled in admiration then drew my own bow, strung an arrow and pointed it at the gang leader. He stood, frozen to the spot as his men were killed quickly around him. One of the gang members did not try to fight but instead attempted to flee, running away through the olive trees. He ran like the wind and I thought he would escape as Garfarn aimed an arrow at him. I kept my gaze on their leader as Garfarn shot and my men cheered as the arrow found its mark.
Gallia took off her helmet, handed it to the now shaking Diana and ran over to where the naked girl lay curled up on the ground. She gently knelt beside her and covered her with her cloak, all the time talking gently to her.
‘My name is Pacorus, prince of Parthia,’ I told the gang leader, ‘and I ride with Spartacus. Drop your sword.’
Some of my men had now moved to the left and right behind me and there were around twenty bows aimed at him. He dropped his sword on the ground.
‘Where’s Parthia, then?’
‘Far from here,’ I said, replacing my bow in its case.
‘Gonna kill me, too?’ he sniffed.
‘We should, for all the atrocities you and your men have committed.’
‘Against slaves?’ He was indignant. ‘They’re not real people, just animals, and most Romans are glad that men like me are prepared to round them up for them.’
At that moment Gallia passed him, her left arm round the shoulders of the young girl. The gang leader saw her pass and spat at her.
‘Bitch.’
In a blur Gallia reached for her boot, whipped out the dagger with her right hand and stabbed it into the man’s neck. She left the blade in his flesh as blood gushed out from the wound in great red spurts. He didn’t scream or shout, just looked surprised as he toppled forward onto the ground, which quickly turned crimson. He made some faint gurgling sounds and then fell silent, then my men cheered loudly as Gallia jumped into her saddle and pulled the girl onto the back of her horse. I retrieved her dagger.
We took the cart, mules and horses and left the dead to rot. The girl rode behind Gallia, holding her tightly around the waist, a sullen, sad-looking creature who said nothing and looked down the whole time. When we stopped to make camp Gallia and Diana cleaned her up and found her a set of leggings and a tunic, then they fed her and cut her matted hair. She clung to Gallia like a frightened child, and always looked down at the ground, never at anyone directly. Later, in the evening, when she had fallen asleep in Gallia’s tent, I sat with her, Diana and a few of my men around a campfire, over which was cooking a pair of rabbits we had caught. I asked if she had spoken about her experience.
‘That would be very difficult for her to do,’ said Gallia, icily.
‘Why?’
‘Because they had cut her tongue out.’
‘What are you going to do with her?’ I asked.
‘She can stay with us.’
I poured some water into my cup. ‘Se won’t be much use, she looks deranged.’
Gallia knocked the cup out of my hand. ‘For someone who is supposedly educated, you can sometimes be an idiot.’
She got up and walked back to her tent. Everyone around the fire looked down and averted my gaze. Suitably chastised, I too walked back to my tent.
We had acquired considerable loot from the country villas we had raided, mostly gold and silver coins. Our rapid appearance had prevented the families from burying their treasure in some hiding place, and in truth they were lucky to escape with their lives at the hands of vengeful slaves. Gallia said little to me in the days following the incident with the slave hunters, though I could detect there was a mighty rage inside her. She called the girl was called Rubi after the town she was rescued near, though the creature still averted any eye contact. Gallia and Diana chatted to her constantly and soon had her trust. And Gafarn seemed to win her over a little, though even his easy charm and good humour found little enthusiasm with her. No doubt her experiences had left her with an unshakeable distrust of men. We kept watch for any enemy patrols, but from what Godarz had told me I was confident that there were few Roman troops in the area. Apparently most of the legions were in foreign lands, stealing territory from the local inhabitants, and Italy itself was largely devoid of soldiers save low-grade garrison troops and veterans who had been given land to farm. The latter might be a problem, but in the south of the country it was slaves who worked on the land, thousands of them. And most of them were now flocking to the banner of Spartacus.
On our way to Metapontum we came across a large and exquisite villa approximately ten miles west of the town of Genusia. The villa stood atop of a large but not high hill and was surrounded by neat rows of olive trees, birch trees and beehives. Slaves were working in the fields among the hives, and they barely gave us a moment’s notice as we rode up the tree-lined drive that led to the villa, its white walls contrasting sharply with the green landscape it sat in. We halted on a large expanse of well-tended grass in front of the villa and I dismounted.
‘No violence,’ I instructed, ‘and be watchful. Those field hands seemed unusually unruffled by our appearance.’
‘Do you want an escort, highness?’ asked Gafarn.
‘I’ll shout if I need assistance,’ I replied.
‘It’s difficult to shout if someone has slit your throat,’ retorted Gallia.
‘I’m sure you can avenge my death many fold.’ I looked at Rubi who had me fixed with a wild stare. ‘You and your cohorts.’
I walked into the courtyard, the atrium as the Romans called it, the floor of which was decorated with mosaics, small rectangular black-and-white stones arranged in geometric patterns. In the centre stood a water fountain on a marble base, the sound of running water filling the courtyard with a calming noise. I took off my helmet and suddenly became aware of a man standing on a marble step between two columns in an open doorway. I assumed that he was in his sixties, with thinning white hair and a wrinkled face. He wore a simple beige tunic and leather sandals, which revealed bony arms. In fact, his face and neck were also lean, which led me to assume that he was a slave.