The Siege (46 page)

As Zabbai and the soldier were about to leave, the Queen herself had appeared. Ignoring the general, she ushered the young
strategos
into an anteroom. He returned moments later and would not speak of what had occurred. Later that night, however, with his tongue loosened by wine, he told Zabbai what had happened.

Without a word, Zenobia had led him to a corner and placed her hand on his head. She had then brought his face to hers and kissed him on the lips. Then she had bent his head down, slipped her tunic from her shoulder and offered him her breasts.

There had been more than a suggestion of jealousy in Zabbai’s voice when he related the soldier’s observation that the Queen had enjoyed the experience as much as he had.

Azaf had tried to consign what he had heard to the recesses of his mind and he did his best not to think of it often. In fact, he wished that the general had never told him; the tale simply fuelled the fantasies he already struggled to contain. He believed that they weakened him. Strength came from discipline and control. An excessive interest in the baser desires could, he thought, be the ruin of any warrior.

Still, he did not chastise himself this time; a man about to face battle deserved a momentary indulgence.

But now came the time to concentrate. He thought back to the fight with the Romans; when his mind had emptied and his instincts had taken over. They had always served him well and when the time came he would give himself up to them again.

Azaf clasped his hands and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and imagined a white blankness setting over him.

It would, he knew, be a glorious victory.

XL

The first indication that the fourth attack was really under way came just as Cassius and six legionaries rejoined Antonius. It was the sound of quick-running steps, the Palmyrans closing in on the southern wall.

The seven Romans were close to the granary steps. Behind them, Kabir and half his tribesmen were hidden inside the dwelling at the end of the street. Yarak and the rest of the Syrians were similarly concealed in the dwelling opposite the inn.

Vestinus and his archers were now up on the barracks roof, lying low. To the preoccupied attackers they would be almost invisible. Crispus and his six men were gathered between the inn and the dwellings close to the northern wall.

Despite the fact that he had just downed half a jug of water, Cassius’ throat felt sore, his mouth dry. And even though he had emptied the rest of the jug over his head, the water had already been usurped by sweat and the damnable helmet felt a size smaller.

He and the other legionaries had already drawn their swords. Pila and shields would have been useful had they intended to put up serious resistance at the walls, but extraneous equipment would slow their retreat. Cassius had ordered that it be left behind the newly erected barricades.

Two of the legionaries suddenly glanced left and he moved forward to gain a better view. He saw the twin poles of a ladder above the wall, not far from the south-east corner. By the time he had scanned the entire length of the wall, five more ladders had appeared, one directly ahead.

A sword materialised, then a helmeted head. Though they never heard or saw the shot, the Romans knew it was a lead pellet that had hit the Palmyran between the eyes.

Teyya’s last expression was a combination of surprise and disbelief. He fell back.

Cassius looked left again. Five enemy warriors were now over the wall and striding towards the Romans. Several were wearing small wooden shields strapped to their forearms. More men dropped down and joined their ranks.

Antonius tilted his blade towards the square.

‘Now, sir?’

‘Wait.’

Cassius turned and saw Crispus retreating from the northern wall, his men behind him. They suddenly broke into a run.

Spinning back round, Cassius looked right and saw that yet more Palmyrans were inside the compound, advancing along the side of the granary.

‘Now! Retreat!’

The legionaries turned and ran.

Crispus’ group were already well past the inn, making for the carts as the Palmyrans gave chase.

One of Cassius’ men stumbled and would have fallen had Cassius not grabbed him under the arm and helped him regain his balance. The moment’s delay left them yards behind the others. As they raced away, Cassius could hear the pounding footfalls of the enemy behind him; the Palmyrans had taken the bait.

There was no sign of Kabir or any of the Syrians. Cassius resisted the temptation to glance at the dwellings.

The two groups became one as the Romans ran hard for the barricades, legs and arms pumping. Tiles cracked under the boots of the charging legionaries. Cassius kept his eyes down, determined not to lose his footing.

Crispus was first behind the carts. He darted neatly through the gap, then the men funnelled in behind him.

Cassius had almost reached the well when he heard the welcome whir of the Syrian slings. He was the last man inside, and he hurried forward while the other legionaries picked up their pila and shields.

Percussive thuds echoed across the square as the lethal projectiles found their targets. The closest Palmyrans fell ten yards short of the carts, all struck in the head or neck. Cassius couldn’t believe they weren’t wearing helmets or armour. The legionaries whooped and cheered as red-clad swordsmen tumbled to the ground across the width of the square.

It didn’t take long for the Palmyrans to realise where the shots were coming from. Kabir’s men were lined up above each roof surround, all either firing or reloading. More could be seen below, half concealed by the shadowy windows as they continued to unleash shot at a prodigious rate.

Their onslaught had halted all those chasing the Romans and soon every Palmyran in the square still standing was running back towards the two dwellings. Leaving at least twenty fallen warriors behind, they flooded towards the doorways or windows, desperate to get out of the firing line and stop the deadly barrage. Both ground floors were overrun in moments. The few Palmyrans left outside pressed close to the walls or raised their shields to protect themselves from the slingers above.

Shouts drifted across the square towards the Romans. They looked on as the Syrians bent over the roof surrounds, looking for new targets. Others had already gone down the ladders to meet the Palmyrans.

‘How many would you say, sir?’ asked Crispus, leaning in close.

Cassius didn’t answer. The Syrians had again done a superb job of depleting the enemy ranks, but by striking so early they had now drawn the full attention of the attackers.

‘Must have been fifty or so,’ Crispus continued. ‘But where are the others?’

As Cassius considered this, one of the Palmyrans by the northern house slid to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his gut. The warrior standing next to him bent over the wounded man but was then struck in the side himself.

Another triumphant cry went up from the legionaries. Cassius peered out at the barracks. There was Vestinus, up on one knee, training his bow at the Palmyrans, the three others beside him. His bow straightened and another bolt flashed away.

Four Palmyrans disappeared behind the aid post, intent on taking out the Roman archers. Those left behind pushed their way inside the dwelling.

‘Look there. The roof!’ someone shouted.

There was only one Syrian still clearly visible. He was on top of the southern house, waving the Romans forward. Sunlight glinted off a familiar earring.

‘That’s Kabir,’ Cassius said.

The fact that Idan had left him showed how desperate their situation was.

‘Shouldn’t we help them, sir?’ asked one legionary.

Cassius looked down at the ground and tried to shut out the noise. He knew that if he delayed much longer, the decision would be irrelevant. Next to him was the flagpole. Protected by the barricades and the legionaries, the standard still flew. But with the Syrians wiped out, the Palmyrans could regroup and attack the carts. With their greater numbers, they would surely prevail.

‘Let’s hit them now, while they’re bottled up,’ suggested Antonius.

Crispus tapped Cassius on the arm and leaned round the flagpole.

‘But sir, what about the other Palmyrans? There are forty more of them out there somewhere.’

Cassius had made up his mind. To sit and wait for the enemy to wipe out their allies before turning on them now seemed folly.

‘We will not abandon them.’

He spoke to the rest of the men.

‘We go to their aid. Bring your shields and pila.’

Cassius was first out. He looked to the rear and was relieved to see that no Palmyrans had circled round behind them. He warily led the legionaries across the square.

They showed little mercy to those left alive. Every warrior wounded about the head was finished off with a jab to the throat or heart.

Up on the barracks roof, Vestinus and his men were still firing, aiming at the windows whenever they caught clear sight of a red tunic.

Cassius and the others glanced anxiously to their left and right as they approached the houses but there was no sign of any more Palmyrans. Crispus was already heading for the southern dwelling with most of his section behind him.

‘My men here!’ shouted Cassius, aiming for the northern house and belatedly realising he’d left his shield inside the barricades. He thought he was moving quickly, but he was swiftly overtaken by Antonius.

Two of the Palmyran swordsmen saw the danger and bolted, one man throwing himself from the window. Antonius slammed his shield into the warrior’s shoulder as he tried to get up, then stabbed down into the base of his back.

The second Palmyran came from the door. Antonius blocked his way. The legionary’s flank was dangerously exposed.

The Palmyran raised his sword.

Cassius forced himself not to think. He threw his blade forward as the swordsman swung down.

There was little strength in Cassius’ extended arm but his weapon absorbed most of the blow and the blades tapped harmlessly against a segment of Antonius’ armour. The burly legionary turned from his first victim and was about to swing again when another Roman rammed a reversed sword pommel into the Palmyran’s face. Three separate blades slid into the warrior before he hit the ground. With a brief nod to Cassius, Antonius joined the others as they swarmed inside.

Cassius looked over at the other dwelling. Crispus and the others had planted themselves in front of the doorway and window. Shields high, they jabbed at the Palmyrans.

Above, Kabir was taking matters into his own hands. He had just clambered over the surround and was now lowering himself over the side. His legs hung just inches from the first-floor window where his tribesmen fought hand to hand with the Palmyrans. It must have been a ten-foot drop but the Syrian rolled athletically to one side as he landed, then sprang to his feet. Yelling in Aramaic, he drew his sword and made for the door.

He was right on Crispus’ heels as the Roman drove his shield into a Palmyran and barged his way inside. From within came an agonised screech.

Cassius moved to the doorway of the northern house. Several bodies lay on the floor. The remaining Palmyrans had backed towards the ladder in the far corner, eyes and blades glinting as they lashed out at the legionaries. The Romans were shouting to each other as they hacked their way forward.

Suddenly there was a loud crack. A section of timber fell to the floor.

With neither Yarak nor any of the other Syrians on the roof, Cassius suddenly realised just how packed the second floor must be. Another timber gave way, showering the legionaries with dust.

‘Get out!’ Cassius yelled. ‘It’s coming down!’

Not one of the legionaries moved.

Cassius darted inside.

‘Out! All of you – out!’

A couple of the legionaries turned round but Antonius and three others were locked in a deadly struggle on the other side of the room.

A third crack and the supporting timber across the door frame gave way. It landed in two halves behind Cassius.

‘Out! Out!’

He pushed the two closest legionaries towards the window. Apart from Antonius, the others had also seen the danger. They passed Cassius and made for what remained of the doorway. Only a single Palmyran was left on his feet, shrinking into the corner behind the ladder.

‘Antonius, now!’

Cassius grabbed one of Antonius’ armour straps and wrenched him round.

‘We are leaving! Now!’

Wood, mud and straw fell round the two Romans as they charged for the window.

The cart blocking the gate had finally been pushed clear. Azaf ordered three men inside. Seeing there was no danger, he followed them, stopping in the middle of the killing area as the rest of the swordsmen spread out behind him.

He looked for the standard but it was now obscured by the curious pall of dust rising above the street.

Cassius and Antonius had landed in a heap outside just as the dwelling collapsed. By the time they got to their feet, everything around them had been enveloped by dust; they could barely see three yards. Coughing hard, Cassius waved his arms in wide arcs to clear the air.

He could hear Crispus inside the other house, still yelling orders. More shouts, none of them in Latin, emanated from the second floor.

The dust began to settle; and Cassius saw that virtually the entire building had come down, with no more than five feet of wall remaining at any point. One legionary was already climbing up the pile of rubble. In amongst the tangle of timber and clay, the Roman was searching for Palmyrans still alive and finishing them off with his sword. Two others went to the aid of a pair of Syrians pinned by a large beam. Both were still breathing. One held up his hand, fingers outstretched towards Cassius.