The Siege (29 page)

‘Let me go, Sicilian,’ Avso hissed, ‘or I’ll put out an eye.’

Serenus and the others took a step backward.

‘I have
two
eyes, friend,’ answered Strabo evenly, tightening his hold as he spoke. ‘You’ve only the one neck.’

‘Centurion!’

It was Kabir, calling from the tower.

‘Strabo, you can let him go,’ said Serenus quietly. ‘As long as he pledges to leave the gate as it is.’

Avso weighed up his options remarkably quickly.

‘All right,’ he said after two breaths. ‘All right. Just let me go.’

Keeping his grip on Avso’s wrist, Strabo released his neck. He waited for the Thracian to step forward before letting go. Avso shot him a poisonous glare then made for the southern tower. The legionaries parted to let him through. He grabbed Statius by his tunic.

‘You get a rope! Gemellus, with me.’

Statius sprinted away towards the access gap. Avso and Gemellus disappeared into the tower.

‘Flavian’s as good as dead,’ said Strabo. ‘And with no one to blame but himself.’

‘Centurion!’ shouted Kabir again.

Strabo and Serenus started towards the northern tower but Cassius held up a hand, conscious of the disordered state of the men.

‘Wait. Get the four sections in position behind the carts. If we need to redeploy then so be it. Let’s just get them organised.’

Strabo took a quick look round. It was impossible not to notice the confused, frightened expressions on many of the faces.

‘You’re right.’

He and Serenus began separating out the men from sections two, three, four and five.

Cassius re-entered the northern tower. Feeling the heat of pain in his ear, he removed the helmet, releasing the chinstrap and squeezing it up over his head. He put a hand to his ear. It was swollen and tender but there was no blood. He climbed up to the first level.

‘They’re coming for Flavian,’ said Kabir, still kneeling in front of the arrow slit.

Cassius dropped down and shut one eye as he peered through the narrow opening. Thirty yards out, a group of eight Palmyrans carrying shields were advancing at a measured pace. The first row of four held their interlocked shields vertically, while the rear four were horizontal, a Roman-style arrangement that left them well protected from missile attack. They were not the only ones moving; both groups of horse archers were now just a hundred feet from the gate. Cassius could see the concentrated calm on their faces as they waited patiently for targets to reveal themselves.

Flavian cried out again. Avso shouted down encouragement.

‘What can we do?’ Cassius asked, retreating from the arrow slit.

‘Nothing,’ said Kabir. ‘They want him for what he can tell them. Better to kill him now while we have the chance.’

Cassius stared back at the Syrian.

‘Better for him too,’ Kabir added, standing up. ‘Also, I saw them moving the ram up. It won’t be long now. I’ll divide the men as we agreed and await your signal.’

Cassius nodded vacantly as Kabir clambered down the ladder. He pulled his helmet back on and headed up to the walkway once more. Statius had just arrived with a thick length of rope. Avso tied a double knot in one end and lowered it over the edge.

‘Flavian! Take hold of this. We’ll pull you up.’

Cassius risked the briefest glance over the wall. The eight Palmyrans had speeded up, though they were careful to keep their shield wall intact.

‘Flavian!’ Avso shouted. ‘Can you take hold?’

‘I’ll try,’ came the weak reply.

Avso was already on his knees and he now straightened up to get his own look over the wall. In trying to see where his friend was he tarried too long. Cassius heard the loud twang of bowstrings. Some of the archers kept up with their flat, low shots; others sacrificed power for accuracy and fired in a shallow arc, trying to drop their bolts over the walkway wall.

Avso’s luck held. One arrow stuck itself into the clay inches from his nose, another bounced off the top of his helmet. Statius was quick to react, pressing his body against the forward wall.

Gemellus, however, was stuck behind the others. Before he could get to safety, arrows thudded into the rear wall either side of him. Suddenly his head snapped backwards; a yard-long shaft had embedded itself in his throat. The legionary’s chin sank forward and came to rest on the arrow. A ribbon of crimson blood seeped from the wound and down over his tunic. His eyelids fluttered and then were still. Cassius turned away, swallowing the bitterness in his throat.

Statius reached for Gemellus, but withdrew instantly as more arrows hit the rear wall. Avso stayed where he was, facing forward, hands still gripping the rope.

The volley ended as swiftly as it had begun. The advancing Palmyrans could be heard now, their boots shuffling through the sand just yards away.

Flavian cried out again.

‘Avso, please!’

‘Take the rope! Take hold of it!’

Avso tried to pull the rope in but there was no weight on the other end.

‘I can’t. I’m all broken up. I can’t move!’

Cassius risked another quick look. The raiding party was now so close that they had disappeared from view. Statius grabbed Gemellus under the arms and laid his body down. Now Avso saw what had happened behind him. Spitting curses, he slammed his fist against the wall. Then he leaned back, staring first at Gemellus, then forlornly down at the rope still in his hands.

‘Flavian. We – I can’t get down there. Just – don’t let them take you.’

The Thracian closed his eyes as he spoke again.

‘Can you reach your dagger?’

‘I can’t move.’

Flavian said nothing more. All they heard were his moans as the Palmyrans finally reached him. It was both surreal and maddening to hear their enemies talking to each other just yards away, yet be unable to stop them.

But Avso was not quite ready to give up on his friend yet. He reached for the bunch of javelins and pulled one out from under the binding. He was up on his feet in a flash, arm already back as he looked for a target. He hesitated.

Cassius took another momentary glimpse and saw why. Even as they retreated, the Palmyrans remained in tight formation. Two men were dragging Flavian away while the other six tracked slowly backwards in two lines of three, shields still raised.

The hands of at least half the archers flew up. A bank of dark flecks flashed towards the gatehouse.

Cassius ducked.

A third of the missiles were directly on target, and would surely have done for Avso had he not flung himself to his left, landing on his side, arms outstretched. As the volley ended, he kicked out with a guttural growl, leaving a substantial hole in the wall.

Cassius looked down at him. Avso rubbed a hand across his forehead, breathing heavily.

‘There’s no more you can do.’

The Thracian left the javelin on the floor and crawled away. He and Statius dragged Gemellus’ body towards the ladder.

‘Enough!’ said Azaf.

Razir shouted the order.

As the archers lowered their bows, the raiding party passed through their lines. The two men with Flavian each had hold of a wrist, hauling him face down across the sand. Part of the arrow in his stomach had snapped off but the remainder caught on the ground, firing further agony with every step. Dropping him close to the rally line, the warriors moved away as Azaf dismounted. He looked down at the Roman, at the two remaining arrow shafts moving up and down with each breath.

Flavian’s eyes were open. He squinted up at Azaf, whimpering as he fought the pain.

‘If this one’s anything to go by, we should have little trouble,’ observed Razir. ‘Look at the state of his armour.’

Azaf glanced at Karzai, who approached warily, perturbed by the gruesome sight before him.

‘Do you wish me to speak with him,
strategos
?’

Azaf nodded.

Karzai knelt down close to Flavian. Preferring not to look directly at him, he spoke softly in Latin.

‘Roman. How many men are behind those walls? How well equipped are they? I advise you to tell all you know. These people are not known for their acts of mercy.’

A gurgling sound came from Flavian’s throat. He gulped twice, then spat at Karzai. The bloody spittle landed in the sand just a few inches from his mouth.

Karzai shook his head and stood.

Azaf came closer, tapping his fingers against his chest.

‘Shall I finish him, sir?’ Razir asked.

Azaf stopped, his feet close to Flavian’s flank. He reached out a hand and ran a finger up the flight of the nearest arrow. Both lines of feathers were still perfectly straight and soft to the touch. Gripping the end of the shaft, he wrenched it to the side, eliciting a gasping breath from Flavian. The Roman tried to reach for the arrow but was unable to move his arms properly. They shuddered with the effort, then became still. His eyes stayed open: wet, bright and defiant.

‘No,’ said Azaf. ‘I think we can find another use for him.’

He pointed at Karzai.

‘You. Tell them to surrender or I’ll show them what fate each of them can expect.’

Karzai walked back towards the gatehouse, then stopped between two ranks of archers.

‘Give yourselves up now and this man can live. All of you can live. Put down your weapons and you can leave this place as free men! This is your final chance. I say it again: surrender or die!’

Cassius reckoned most of the legionaries heard the second ultimatum but there was barely a whisper. They had already given their answer and the capture of Flavian changed nothing. There was no possibility of bargaining or surrender; the fate of one man was nothing when weighed against the fate of the garrison and the fort. Belief in the primacy of the fighting unit over all other considerations had been drilled into every last soldier present. Though they numbered barely half a century, Cassius knew then that the legionaries of Alauran had not forgotten who they were.

Karzai retreated, followed swiftly by the archers. Those to the north raised their bows as the horsemen in the southern ranks turned their mounts away, walking them slowly back towards the rally line. Once they got there, they turned and raised their weapons, covering their compatriots to the north as they withdrew.

‘Sir.’

Crispus poked his head up above the ladder. ‘Sections two to five are in place, sir. Section one in reserve. Sentries posted at the other three walls. Guard officer would like to know what’s going on, sir.’

Cassius realised he was the only person with a good view of the Palmyrans. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be. Still, nothing crucial had changed yet.

‘Stay there. You can tell the others when the advance begins.’

Cassius was sweating; his undershirt was already soaked through. The temperature was far lower inside the gatehouse and now the moisture was cooling against his skin. He looked back through the slit. There was a moment of panic when he saw only a cloud of dust and the ghostly, indistinct shapes of retreating horses. Thankfully, what little breeze there was cleared the dust and he saw that the bowmen once again flanked the main force.

‘Archers have withdrawn. All now gathered at original rally line.’

Crispus repeated this to someone outside the gatehouse and told them to pass on the message.

Unsure why he hadn’t noticed sooner, Cassius spied a group of five men standing ahead of the rally line, less than fifty yards away. One was identifiable by his cloak, the other three were Palmyran infantrymen. The fifth was being held up by the soldiers. Flavian.

‘Crispus,’ said Cassius without turning round. ‘Where’s Avso?’

‘At the aid post, I think. Serenus is with him. Gemellus is dead, sir.’

Two of the men pulled on Flavian’s hands until his arms were parallel to the ground. There was a sudden gust of wind. Azaf’s black hair streamed out behind him as he circled the others and drew his sword. He raised the blade high, its oiled surface catching the sun.

Then he swept it down, hacking off Flavian’s left arm above the elbow. Even at such distance, Cassius could see blood spurting from the wound. The Palmyran left holding the limb cast it casually to the ground.

‘What is it, sir?’ asked Crispus, moving swiftly up the ladder.

‘Nothing. Stay there.’

Azaf took two steps to his left, then swung the sword down once more, taking off the other arm with symmetrical precision.

To his horror, Cassius saw that Flavian’s head was still moving atop his butchered body. His frame jerked horribly, like a manic puppet. Two of the Palmyrans pushed him down on to his knees, then squatted behind him, propping him up with their hands.

Azaf placed the tip of his sword at Flavian’s neck, then retracted the blade in a high diagonal arc. He swung the sword once more.

Cassius shut his eyes and turned away. When he opened them again, he found the alert gaze of Crispus upon him.

‘What is it, sir? What have they done to him?’

When Cassius failed to answer, Crispus climbed up the ladder. Before he could get close to the arrow slit, Cassius was up off his knees and barring the way. He put both hands flat against Crispus’ chest.

‘There’s nothing to see. Find Avso. Tell him his friend is gone. He was dead before he reached their lines.’

‘What did they do to him?’

Cassius’ head was already bent over because of the low roof. He leaned in close to Crispus.

‘I told you. He was dead before they got him back to their lines. He’ll suffer no more. Now find Avso and tell him.’

Crispus took one last look at the arrow slit before stepping back. Then he left without a word.

Cassius took his helmet off and ran his hands across his face and head, wiping the sweat on his tunic sleeves. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw the sword swing once more. Forcing himself forward, he knelt down again.