Spartacus made Godarz quartermaster general of the whole army, responsible for distributing weapons and also collecting any surplus gold and silver that we might have. There was a large quantity of the latter, as the spoils of Forum Annii and Metapontum included expensive drinking vessels, jewelry and religious items looted from temples. The Gauls in particular had a vast horde, which Godarz demanded and Crixus refused. It took the personal intervention of Spartacus himself before he relented, but relent he did. The precious metal was melted down and cast into gold and silver ingots, which were placed under heavy guard in Akmon’s treasury camp. Crixus had his sense of grievance soothed somewhat when Godarz sent him a thousand new swords for his warriors. There was neither the time nor the resources to produce mail armour, Spartacus remarking that new shirts would have to be taken off dead Romans. The same went for helmets, though wicker shields covered with leather sufficed for those who would not be fighting in the front ranks. We certainly had no shortage of leather, having amassed thousands of cattle during our journey from Mount Vesuvius, plus tens of thousands of sheep and goats. And we certainly had no shortage of milk, meat or honey, for Bruttium was famous for the quality of its honey and multitude of beehives.
During the weeks that followed, each day had the same routine as I moulded the cavalry into a force that could beat the Romans on the battlefield. All my Parthians were assigned to lead and train one-hundred man companies. Nergal and Burebista each had their own dragons now, a thousand men divided into ten companies. I commanded the third dragon, with Rhesus as my second-in-command. Nergal and myself commanded horse archers but Burebista led horsemen equipped with spears and shields. Not all those who could ride were able to master the bow, even less when on horseback, so they were trained to fight as Roman cavalry. I ordered the shields, oval shaped and covered in leather, to have a white horse’s head painted on them to display Hatra’s emblem in the heart of my enemy’s kingdom.
Thus did the army’s mounted arm number two thousand horse archers and a thousand mounted spearmen. No matter what dragon they were allocated to, each day was the same for all those who rode. Up at dawn for an hour of marching fully equipped on foot, followed by breakfast, three hours of riding drills, an hour grooming and checking our mounts, a light midday meal, and then the afternoon spent practising archery and close-quarter combat with spears, swords and shields. Burebista and his Dacians made a point of keeping their bows, even though the other men of his dragon were not horse archers. Byrd and his men took no part in our daily routine, they were a law unto themselves, being mostly a collection of loners, oddballs and undesirables, but they were excellent scouts who rode far and wide and made sure no Roman army would surprise us in our winter quarters. Nergal grumbled that they set a bad example, but they lived apart from us in a separate camp in the foothills of the mountains and we rarely saw them. Byrd reported to me once a week in his usual curt manner, but I was reassured that he and his men were watching over us, and as long as they did their task properly they were worth their weight in gold. Bozan had told me that the key to success on the battlefield was hard and relentless training, ‘train hard, fight easy, that’s the secret, boy,’ he used to tell me. And so it was. I had to admit that former slaves made excellent recruits. They had known nothing but cruelty and harsh discipline, so it was no great transition at all for them to live each day with hard physical toil. The difference being that with us they were fighting to maintain their newly won freedom, and they took to the task with gusto. There was no grumbling or sedition, just a desire to learn the skills that would enable them to kill Romans and stay free.
It was nearly a month after we had taken delivery of the first shipmen of iron from the city of Thurri when Nergal burst into my tent in an agitated state.
‘We’ve got trouble, highness.’
I strapped on my sword and followed him outside into the morning light, expecting to see Crixus and a horde of his Gauls drawn up in battle array over some imagined slight. Instead I was greeted by a frowning Godarz, a smiling Gafarn and a column of horsemen a couple of hundred feet away, all in full war gear. About company strength, they looked smart and were armed with bows and swords. All wore mail shirts and helmets whose cheek guards enclosed their faces.
‘Shouldn’t they be on the training field?’ I said to Nergal.
‘Take a closer look, highness,’
I really didn’t have time for this but I walked towards the horsemen, Nergal, Gafarn and Godarz falling in behind me.
‘Who is your commander,’ I shouted at the two men who led the column.
He took off his helmet and a great cascade of blonde hair fell about ‘his’ shoulders.
‘No man commands us,’ said Gallia, ‘but we are willing to fight alongside you for freedom.’
I was momentarily speechless, but then turned on Nergal.
‘Is this sort of joke?’
‘No, highness.’
The individual next to Gallia also took off her helmet; it was Praxima and behind her sat Diana.
‘We can all ride and fight,’ said Gallia, proudly, ‘and demand the right to do so.’
‘Demand!’ I said.
‘Feisty lot, aren’t they,’ mused Gafarn, mischievously.
‘Be quiet, Gafarn. Godarz, where did they get their weapons?’
Before he could answer Gallia spoke. ‘We took them from the armoury. I told the guards that you had given me permission.’
I looked at Godarz, who shrugged then looked down at the ground. I walked over to Gallia, who had acquired a fine mail shirt, as did Praxima. I stood next to her horse, which I had to admit looked magnificent, its mane and coat shining in the sun. All the woman’s horses had red saddlecloths edged with yellow, loot taken from Roman mounts.
‘Are you going to get down so we can talk about this?’ I asked her, quietly.
‘Are you going to let us fight in your cavalry?’ she said, defiantly.
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Yes it is,’ she replied, ‘we can fight as well as any man.’ There was now a crowd of sightseers gathering round us, which annoyed me intensely.
‘Get these men back to their duties,’ I snapped at Nergal, who ordered them away.
‘If I can prove that we are as good as any man, will you let us fight?’ said Gallia, loudly enough for all those around to hear. She had given me a way out of this predicament.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘But how can you prove such a thing?’
I looked at Nergal, who nodded in acknowledgement, though Godarz was frowning and Gafarn was shaking his head.
‘An archery contest, to decide the matter, such as you have in Parthia,’ said Gallia. ‘I will pit my bow against yours.’
I burst into laughter and moved closer to her. ‘My love, you know you cannot win such a contest.’ She was not amused.
‘Well, if I cannot win then you can have no objection to competing against me.’
I accepted her challenge. This was the woman I loved, but I was a Parthian prince, whose blood had inherited the skills of the fable horse archers of the great Asiatic steppes of legend. I had held a bow since leaving the cradle, but I promised myself that I would not humiliate the woman who I was going to one day marry.
Our training area was a wide expanse of open land near the foothills of the mountains. It was divided into several archery practice courses, each one the same in length and purpose, and were identical to the ones we used in Parthia. Each course was five hundred feet long, with targets on the left-hand side placed at intervals along its length. The targets were square shaped, just over three feet in diameter and each one was divided into five scoring areas, with the inner bulls-eye being eight inches in diameter. All the targets were placed sixteen feet from the inside of the course rope. At its most basic, a horsemen rode up the course and fired at each target as he passed, though only skilled archers were able to hit the bulls-eye of all five targets. Standing opposite each marker, about thirty feet away, was a scorer, who held a coloured flag aloof after his target had been hit, or not as the case may be. A red flag indicated a strike on the bulls-eye, a green the next three scoring areas out from the bulls-eye, and a yellow flag to mark a hit on the outer scoring area. A white flag indicated a miss. To simulate battle conditions, each attempt at the course had to be performed at the gallop with the archer drawing arrows from his quiver. Easy enough for a Parthian, but I doubted that those unused to shooting from horseback would be able to achieve this, much less a woman.