‘We are depending on it, general,’ said Diana.

  ‘We leave tomorrow and strike south to the Gokirmak Valley,’ continued Chrestus, ‘passing the ancient track that was once used by the Hittites and Persians to continue on south. We keep west of a river called the Halys, which marks the boundary between Pontus and Cappadocia. From there we continue south.’

  ‘How long will the journey take?’ enquired Kewab.

  ‘It took me a month walking on foot to reach Hatran territory,’ replied Chrestus, ‘but I was young then.’

  There was a ripple of laughter.

  ‘At least a month, probably longer,’ said Chrestus, ‘and that is hoping we will have a head start on the enemy.’

  ‘Who will soon be snapping at our heels,’ remarked Malik.

  ‘We leave in the morning,’ I told them.

  ‘What about the criminals we came here to apprehend?’ asked an angry Spartacus, pointing at the tent’s entrance. ‘They are in Sinope, laughing at us. If we leave Pontus they will escape justice.’

  It was true. We had come to Pontus to capture Atrax, Titus Tullus, Laodice and Tiridates. We had failed to do so. But at least if we managed to extradite ourselves from the situation we currently found ourselves in, we might serve justice on them at a later date.

  ‘We cannot have vengeance on anyone if we are dead, Spartacus,’ I told him. ‘Dura’s army will be leaving in the morning. You can do as you see fit.’

  He probably hated me at that moment, but I did not care. If I included Malik’s warriors, the horsemen of Kewab and Karys, and Dura’s squires, I had brought nearly thirty thousand fighting men and boys to Pontus, in addition to hundreds of cameleers, muleteers, servants and wagon drivers. I would not allow them to perish in this foreign land. I looked at Gafarn who gave me a slight nod. Hatra would be marching with me, which meant Spartacus would have no choice but to follow.

  The legions and Immortals left camp before dawn, preceded by Talib’s scouts, half of Sporaces’ horse archers, all of Kalet’s horsemen plus Malik’s warriors. As we were only a mile from the walls of Sinope, it would not have taken a genius to work out we were marching west instead of east. All we could hope for was Polemon would be uncertain as to our intentions, and I prayed that he might even believe it was a ruse to lure the large relief force on to the coastal plain where we could engage it. Guessing the intentions and thoughts of the enemy was a risky business, and so the cataphracts of Hatra and Dura, reinforced by Kewab’s mounted archers-cum-spearmen, were deployed near the gates of the city, to deter any attempt by the garrison to launch a raid. I led the rest of Hatra’s horse archers and the horsemen of Mesene east to keep the enemy relief army in the foothills. Behind us, Orobaz with Hatra’s horse archers provided a sizeable reserve to assist either Kewab or myself. Spartacus, still sulking regarding our intention to quit Pontus, had declared his forces would stay with the wagons, camels, mules and foot soldiers to provide flank and rear protection for the army.

  Klietas’ arm was no longer in a sling, which meant he could ride in the saddle, though his wound was still bandaged and dressed every day. As such, it made shooting a bow difficult for him. But he was in a happy mood, whistling to himself as we trotted across the verdant terrain, much to Gallia’s chagrin.

  ‘Silent! Keep watch,’ she hissed.

  Over the centuries the trees had been cleared from the plain, to be replaced with neat vineyards, fields and orchards. White-washed stone farmhouses dotted the land, along with villages composed of stone huts with thatched roofs. The hillsides were different, being blanketed with trees: oak, beech and maple. Higher up were great stretches of birch and pine, the track we had used to descend on to the plain weaving its way up the hills like a long yellow snake.

  I held up a hand when a strange noise reached my ears, like a thousand woodpeckers tapping at tree trunks. Then we saw them, just a few at first, small groups slowly exiting the treeline, increasing to a multitude as more and more came into sight. Karys ordered his men to deploy into company columns and Sporaces did likewise. Ahead, around four or five hundred paces, more and more warriors exited the trees.

  ‘Gauls,’ spat Gallia bitterly.

  As they got closer they began to taunt us in a language I barely recognised. It was Gaulish, but it had been so long since I had heard it that it was like listening to a foreign language. Even though Gallia was a Gaul, she rarely spoke it, saving for when she was cursing or hurling insults.

  ‘They are calling us women, sons of whores and frightened children who dare not fight them on foot but prefer to sit on our horses, so we can run away quicker,’ she reported, as the horde made a fearful racket.

  And then horsemen appeared, just a minority compared to the huge throng that had vomited forth from the trees, but well attired in what appeared to be bronze armour, helmets and mounted on horses with shiny coats. They rode to within around a hundred paces of our position, one jumping down from the saddle and striding forward, before spreading his arms and venting his spleen. He was around fifty paces from where I sat on Horns, my horse flicking his ears in annoyance in response to the king’s booming voice. He was a great slab of a man, his cone-like helmet decorated with what looked like a pair of eagle wings. His over-sized chest was covered with a burnished scale-armour cuirass, beneath which he wore a long-sleeved blue tunic. His baggy grey leggings were striped, and his hair and thick beard were ginger. In his right hand he held a mighty war hammer. Gallia translated for me as his voice thundered across the grass.

  ‘I am Amyntas, King of Galatia, and I demand to speak to Pacorus, ruler of a land called Dura. I see his griffin banner but where is this Pacorus? Is he hiding behind his warrior women?’

  The insult was for the benefit of his tribesmen, who began to whistle and whoop derisively, some sticking out their tongues or turning around and bending over to show us their buttocks. It was very boorish and infantile, but I was more than pleased to indulge it. I nudged Horns forward,

  ‘You are wasting your time, Pacorus,’ said Gallia, ‘all he wants is to ridicule and belittle you.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I smiled, ‘the more time the Gauls spend insulting me, the longer the army has to get into the hills. I would appreciate a translator.’

  Gallia urged her horse forward.

  ‘If he tries anything with that hammer, drop him,’ she told Zenobia.

  ‘With pleasure,’ replied the commander of the Amazons, though as she carried my standard it would be others who would shoot the Gaul dead if it came to it.

  When we left the line of Amazons the Gauls gave a mighty cheer and began banging their spear shafts on the insides of their shields. Those shields were a variety of shapes – square, oval and hexagonal – being wood covered in hide with metal ribbing, spines and edges and decorated with spirals, circles and animal motifs.

  Gallia rolled her eyes as the noise reached a crescendo, our own soldiers in contrast sitting in silence on their horses. The hubbub died down when we halted our horses less than ten paces from the man mountain that was King Amyntas. His large brown eyes flitted between Gallia and me. Then he grinned.

  ‘King Pacorus and Queen Gallia, we meet at last,’ he said in perfect Greek.

  He saw the surprise in my eyes. ‘You thought I was a brainless barbarian? Never underestimate an opponent. Surely a commander as long in the tooth as yourself must know that?’

  He was brimming with confidence and energy, his eyes always moving as they examined me, Gallia and the companies of horse archers behind us.

  ‘Are you going to sit on your horses and speak down to me?’ he asked, feigning hurt.

  ‘Our weapons are sheathed, lord king,’ I answered; tipping my head at the huge two-handed hammer he gripped in his hand.

  He tossed it aside. ‘My apologies.’

  I slowly dismounted, as did Gallia.

  ‘I assume you will now demand our surrender.’

  He shook his giant head. ‘I know too much about you and your Gaul queen to waste my words. To be honest, I just wanted to meet the pair whose fame has spread far and wide. You are older and smaller than I expected, but that is the nature of meeting legendary figures. They invariably disappoint.’

  He beamed at Gallia. ‘It is an honour to meet you, lady. I promise that when this campaign is over, and the soldiers of Parthia are either dead or enslaved, you will have free passage to travel back to Dura.’

  He looked past us. ‘You and your women.’

  ‘There is no need, lord,’ she smiled, ‘because if, by some quirk of fate, you and your allies are victorious, I shall be dead. A great man once told me it is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.’

  He roared with laughter. ‘The stories do not do you justice, lady. Is the man you speak of standing beside you?’

  ‘No, his name was Spartacus,’ she told him.

  ‘The slave leader, I have heard of him. Even now, he provokes rage and disgust among the Romans. But we stand here because of another who shares the same name. Octavian wants him dead,’ he stated bluntly.

  ‘Wanting and having are two different things,’ I replied casually.

  He jerked a thumb behind him.

  ‘King Archelaus and his soldiers are but a few hours’ march away. When they arrive and join with my warriors and the soldiers of King Polemon, our combined forces will overwhelm your own troops. Not that I need the help of Pontus and Cappadocia, you understand. There is no escape.’

  ‘We do not seek to escape, lord king,’ I said, ‘rather conduct a leisurely withdrawal in pleasant weather and in scenic terrain, after our summer holiday in Pontus.’

  His warriors and mounted warlords were silent now, many Gauls leaning on their fearsome two-handed war axes as they watched their king converse with the enemy. Amyntas looked at Horns.

  ‘I heard you rode a white stallion.’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘After you are dead, King Pacorus, I will take your horse and provide him with many mares to service. He will be happy, I promise you.’

  ‘I assume we are done here,’ said Gallia.

  Amyntas bowed his head to her. ‘I am a man of my word, Queen Gallia. Your life shall be spared.’

  She gained her saddle. ‘If we meet in combat, I will show you no mercy.’

  He beamed at her again. ‘I would not expect any less of a fellow Gaul.’

  I hauled myself into my saddle. ‘Farewell, King Amyntas.’

  ‘Until the next time we meet, King Pacorus.’

  He retrieved his hammer, whistled to his warlords who turned and galloped to their subordinates. When we had walked our horses back to the waiting Amazons and turned them around, the Gauls had disappeared back into the trees, Amyntas halting at the treeline to raise his hammer in salute before he too vanished. We stood on the grass for another hour to ensure it was not a ruse to entice us into the hills. But the Gauls did not reappear and so we too departed, cantering through the fields and vineyards to re-join Lord Orobaz and his waiting horse archers. We had bought the army some time, but whether it would make any difference remained to be seen.

  Chapter 13

  The first two days were nerve shredding, scouts reporting seeing the enemy in every direction. Talib aged overnight as he and his men, plus the scouts of Gordyene and Hatra, rode for hours reconnoitring every track, ravine, hill, forest and lake. The main road leading south was wide enough for the legions to march six abreast, but the pace was slow for fear of ambush. We thus made only ten miles on the first day and the same distance the day after. On the third day we reached the great plateau that extended into Galatia, Pontus, Cappadocia and western Gordyene, a place of stunning mountains, lakes, deep valleys and remote passes.

  The hills and mountainsides were blanketed with trees: pine on the upper slopes and oak, maple and beech lower down. But the plains were wide and largely open save for small villages, around which were fields and orchards. The soil was fertile, and our horses and camels could feast on the short grass that gave the valleys and plains their lush appearance. But it was hot.

  Gafarn took off his floppy hat and wafted it in his face.

  ‘I thought the mountains were supposed to be cool. This heat reminds me of the deserts of Hatra.’

  ‘It is always like this in the highlands in summer, majesty,’ Chrestus told him.

  ‘Do you miss your homeland, general?’ asked a glowing Diana, her cheeks flushed by the heat.

  ‘I left when I was sixteen, majesty, so it is no longer my homeland, not since it became a Roman province.’

  ‘Client kingdom,’ I corrected him.

  ‘Same thing,’ he shot back.

  Spartacus, still offish with me, had decided to take command of the rearguard with his sons, which meant he was some twenty miles north of our group. The army was marching in a column some twenty-five miles long, and so the horse archers were providing flank and rear protection, as well as forming a sizeable vanguard. And I was glad Spartacus was with the rearguard, because north was where our enemies would attack from when they showed their faces.

  ‘Perhaps Polemon will not pursue us,’ said Diana.

  ‘His pride will not allow him to sit on his backside in Sinope,’ I told her, ‘especially with Amyntas and Archelaus having marched to his relief. They will join forces and pursue us, of that I am certain.’

  Gafarn looked around at the low-lying hills and expansive grassland.

  ‘At least we will be able to deploy our horsemen to full effect.’

  ‘Let us assume the enemy makes an appearance sooner rather than later,’ I said. ‘And let us also assume we defeat the combined forces of our foes. I hope you will emphasise to your son that any victory is to facilitate our withdrawal and not an excuse to return to Sinope.’

  Gafarn laughed. ‘I cannot guarantee that, my friend. For all I know, Spartacus might be thinking of annexing eastern Pontus.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ queried Gallia.

  ‘To give his friend and ally Spadines a new kingdom to rule,’ replied Gafarn. ‘It saddens me to say it, but I believe Spartacus only truly trusts his Aorsi allies, plus his sons, of course.’

  ‘Even the King of Media?’ asked Gallia.

  ‘He is proud of Akmon,’ said Diana, ‘he told me so. And he has forgiven Lusin for stealing his son away.’

  I was going to say that if Spartacus had not stolen Lusin in the first place, she would not have met Akmon and they would not have fallen in love. But there was no point in raking over the past.

  ‘He should think of his first grandchild instead of fanciful schemes in Pontus,’ I said.

  The temperature continued to rise as we headed south, watering our beasts in the cool waters of the Halys River and the various lakes and waterfalls that littered the area. The pace was slow, Lucius’ engineers mapping out the site of the next evening’s camp as the last troops were leaving the previous night’s encampment. But after ten days and after covering around one hundred miles, the sense of apprehension hanging over the army had vanished, and everyone was congratulating themselves on escaping the trap we had walked into at Sinope.

  Until we reached Corum.

  This ancient Galatian town was reportedly nearly two thousand years old and had been ruled in turn by the Hittites, Persians, Macedonians and Armenians, before falling under the influence of Rome. And it was our old adversaries who now barred our way.

  ‘How many?’ growled Spartacus, chewing a piece of cured meat.

  ‘Difficult to say, majesty,’ answered a dust-covered Talib, ‘but they have built a wooden wall across the valley we need to march through to continue our journey.’

  I had called a council of war the moment Talib had returned to the army with the news that the route to Corum, a walled town that we intended to skirt as we headed south, was blocked a couple of miles north of the town. It was late afternoon, but the temperature was still high, causing us all to sweat, though not as much as the legionaries hacking at the bone-dry ground around us as they constructed the ditch and palisade for our new camp.

  ‘What else have they built?’ asked Lucius, removing his helmet to wipe his sweat-beaded brow with a cloth.

  ‘The wall sits on top of an earth embankment, in front of which is a ditch. Beyond the ditch are pits lined with stakes to break up the advance of an assault force,’ reported Talib. ‘There are no gates in the wall.’

  ‘Can we go around the valley?’ asked Gafarn.

  ‘Either side of the valley, which is wide and flat, the hills get steeper, rockier and higher, majesty,’ said Talib. ‘We would have to retrace our steps before finding a new, more circuitous route.’

  ‘Unacceptable,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘We must go through this wall. There are enough trees in the area that we can fell to make bridges to cross the ditch and ladders to scale the wall.’

  ‘Attacking such obstacles is a costly and time-consuming business,’ warned Lucius, whose own defences at Irbil the year before had impeded Atrax’s rebel army.

  ‘It is obviously a trap,’ mused Spartacus, spitting out the strip of meat he had been chewing on. ‘I doubt there are many Roman soldiers manning that wall. But they have created an obstacle that will slow us down, which is what they want.’

  ‘Who, son?’ enquired Diana.

  He pointed at the mountains in the background.

  ‘Somewhere out there is the combined army of the kings of Pontus, Galatia and Cappadocia. They obviously anticipated our movements, knowing the King of Dura would not allow himself to be trapped against the sea. You have been out-foxed, uncle.’

  What a pity he did not stay with the rearguard, was my thought as he leered triumphantly at me.

  ‘I yield to your superior military knowledge, nephew. What would you do?’

  He answered without hesitation.

  ‘What we should have done at Sinope. Stand and fight. Destroy the Gauls and their Cappadocian allies and then continue our retreat back to… Remind me, uncle, where are we fleeing to?’

  ‘We are heading for Hatra, and have more respect for your uncle,’ Gafarn chastised him.