My eyes misted as I saw rank upon rank of horsemen drawn up each side of the main avenue that led from the camp, Rhesus saluting me with his drawn sword. I knew that if I looked at even one in the eye I would blubber like a baby, so I paced stony faced through the middle of them, out of the camp and towards the palisade. I felt cold, but perhaps it was the cool embrace of fear. Behind me walked my breakfast companions, but I did not turn to look at them. Spartacus, Castus, Akmon and Claudia met me at the palisade, though not Crixus. I was glad; I had no desire to see his leering visage on what might be my last day on earth. Spartacus looked troubled as half a dozen of his Thracians removed some of the tree trunks that had been sharpened to a point and made up the palisade, to let me through.
‘Are you sure of this, Pacorus? I do not command you to go.’
‘Yes, lord,’ I knew he was giving me an opportunity to save myself, but by now the whole army would know of my task and what would they think of me if I turned back now? Besides, I was a Parthian and we were not raised to run away from danger. I embraced Claudia and shook the hands of Castus and Akmon. The posts had been removed and my route to the city was open. The distance from the palisade to the western gates of the city was about half a mile, a wide expanse of empty space in which nothing moved, apart from today. I turned to look at the people I classed as my friends and the one who I hoped was far more than that. I took off my helmet and walked up to Gallia, clasped her hands in mine and kissed her on the lips.
‘I love you,’ I said to her, then turned about, put on my helmet and strode away.
I felt strangely calm as I walked alone towards the walls, which seemed higher and more formidable the nearer I got to them. But I wasn’t thinking about the Romans, I was thinking about Gallia, my darling Gallia. I had told her the feelings in my heart and that was all that mattered. If I died today then at the very least she would know how I felt about her, and as I walked along I started to smile to myself. Any guards watching me probably thought that I was mad, and they may have entertained the thought of putting some arrows into me rather than letting me enter their city. I carried on walking. It seemed that I was the only person on the face of the earth as I walked onto the bridge across the ditch and finally reached the western entrance, two huge wooden gates separated by a stone arch, each one studded with iron spikes. The gatehouse itself comprised two large square stone towers topped with tiled roofs, each tower having two high-mounted rows of ports for archers and slingers, which were now covered by wooden shutters. The top of the wall between the towers was deserted, but my sixth sense told me that I was being watched by many eyes.
I went over in my mind what Spartacus had told me, that I was to negotiate on his behalf, and to remember that we might only be freed slaves but we possessed the province’s wealth. No wonder the leading citizens of Thurri were rich. The province of Bruttium was prosperous indeed, not only because of its silver mine but also due to its large herds of sheep that produced wool and that were taken into the mountains in the summer to avoid the intense heat of the plains. The province also produced excellent wines from its many vineyards, plus massive quantities of olives from the great estates that littered the coastal plain. All of these were now in our hands, presumably much to the consternation of their owners. We had come across few villas, leading Spartacus to speculate that the owners lived in Thurri itself. The province was also home to a beautiful breed of horse that was characterised by a thin head, strong and well-proportioned neck, high withers, strong back, a slightly inclined rump, powerful joints and broad, solid hooves. Godarz told me that the stock had come about because of cross-breeding between Italian horses and those brought from Africa by a general called Hannibal, who belonged to a people called Carthaginians from Africa. Apparently he had campaigned for twenty years against the Romans in their own homeland before being finally defeated. But his legacy was a superb breed of horse that was raised in Bruttium and then sold throughout the Roman Empire. And now these fine horses were being drafted into my cavalry. I also discovered that they had a patient nature, which made the training of new recruits much easier. Spartacus had given strict instructions that no unwarranted destruction should be inflicted on the province, though the Gauls had unsurprisingly ignored these orders until Spartacus himself had marched over to Crixus’ camp and demanded that they desist their activities.
I had halted a few feet from the gates and there I stood, for what seemed like an eternity. I said a silent prayer to Shamash that I might have a quick death at the hand of a skilled archer, but instead one of the gates slowly opened inwards. I remained stationary as the gate was fully opened and a Roman officer, wearing a red-plumed helmet and scarlet cloak, strode onto the wooden bridge across the ditch, halted and shouted ‘follow me’, before he about-turned and marched back into the city. I swallowed and walked forward at a brisk pace. I was nervous but determined not to show it as I left the bridge and entered the city of Thurii.
I walked under the gatehouse and onto a paved street that was flanked with two-and three-storey buildings, many of which were shops that opened up onto the street. I was immediately surrounded by a group of legionaries, ten of them, with a centurion standing at their head. Their commander patently ignored me as he gave the order to march forward, and so I began my journey through the city. It appeared to follow the usual Roman town layout, with streets bisecting the one I was walking along at right angles. I noticed that many of the buildings were large and well maintained, with ornate, over-hanging balconies. The streets were filled with people and all the shops seemed to be open. Clearly the port area was still bringing in supplies of food and other essentials. Few people bothered to pay me any attention as the legionaries shoved aside any who got in the way. After about fifteen minutes we came to the forum, a massive square enclosed on three sides by colonnaded passages and the fourth fronted by a massive basilica with whitewashed walls and a terracotta-tiled roof. My silent escorts and I marched across the square and up the steps of the basilica, then through its main entrance, which was framed by two enormous marble columns. Godarz had told me that the basilica was both a business centre and law court, but today I had the feeling that it was definitely the latter as my escort halted at the entrance. I was left alone to walk towards the dignitaries assembled at the far end of what was in effect a large rectangular central aisle, flanked by two other aisles, one either side of the main one. The central aisle was taller than the sides and there were windows in its top section, through which poured light. The central aisle was supported by thick stone columns and arches, and in front of every column stood a guard in full war gear. I took off my helmet and walked across the grey marble-tiled floor towards the raised apse at the far end of the basilica, upon which were seated three men in chairs. A fourth chair beside them was empty. When I reached the apse I saw that more guards stood against the wall behind the chairs and clerks sat at tables to one side. I halted a few paces in front of the apse and bowed my head to the three seated men. An awkward silence followed. Finally, the man in the middle, dressed in a white toga, addressed me. He was about fifty years of age, with a long, lean face and dark, receding hair flecked with grey. His voice was slightly effeminate as he looked at me with pale grey eyes.
‘I am Gnaeus Musius, the governor of this great city. Your name?’
‘I am Prince Pacorus, son of King Varaz of Hatra, and I speak for General Spartacus.’