Nick Brown - The Siege

‘My sister’s boy,’ said Kabir, nodding down at the warrior. ‘She asked me to leave him behind but I could not appear to favour my own kin.’

Kabir looked on vacantly as Yarak continued his work, sometimes chanting quietly, sometimes blowing the scented smoke over the wounds of the dead.

Cassius felt great sympathy for the Syrian but there was no time to spare. He had to somehow break this reverie.

‘Without their sacrifice we would never have been able to repel the Palmyrans. We must ensure now that they were not lost in vain.’

‘You Romans are not known for your subtlety, are you?’

Cassius said nothing.

‘You fear perhaps that I have lost the will to fight on.’

‘Not at all. But time is of the essence.’

Kabir tilted his head backward.

‘Time. Another Roman obsession. The whole world must follow your hours and weeks and months.’

‘You believe the Palmyrans will wait?’ said Cassius fractiously.

‘I believe they will wait long enough to catch their breath. Perhaps even take a moment to honour their dead.’

Cassius stepped away. There was nothing more to be gained by pressing Kabir further. The Syrian held the upper hand now and he seemed to know it.

‘I shall be at the barricades,’ Cassius said quietly. ‘Perhaps you will join me. When you are ready.’

Kabir held out a hand.

‘Wait.’

He knelt down and gently plucked some errant hair from his nephew’s face, then took a moment to tidy the boy’s tunic. His expression softened as he stood.

‘You’re right. We must act now.’

Kabir spoke a couple of words to Yarak as they walked away down the street, then turned towards Cassius.

‘Strabo?’

‘Well he’s alive.’

‘Purple Cloak, as you call him, will not make the same mistake again. They must know how few we are. If they have ladders, they will use them now.’

‘We should abandon the barricades?’

‘I think we must.’

They came to a stop by the carts.

‘Your lookouts are still in place?’ asked Kabir.

‘Yes. No movement yet.’

Cassius glanced back along the street, recalling the original reserve plan.

‘I had thought we might use the barracks as a redoubt but we haven’t the men to defend it now.’

The two of them stood there in silence for a while, taking in defences and defenders with a new eye. Before he knew it, Cassius was gazing at the double line of bodies by the northern wall. Though the Romans had been covered with blankets, the Palmyrans had been left exposed. Hundreds of flies hovered around them.

‘Do you have it, sir?’

Cassius turned to find Crispus staring expectantly at him.

‘The ring, sir. Strabo’s still asking for it.’

‘Ah. No, no,’ Cassius answered meekly, knowing he couldn’t face that particular task. In truth, it had been little more than an excuse to get away. ‘Perhaps you could-’

‘I’ll fetch it.’

Kabir pointed up at the dwellings.

‘My men should remain on the roofs where we can do most damage. Closer to the square perhaps, a central position. In range of all four walls and able to move if necessary.’

Cassius wondered where he should deploy the remaining legionaries. He could see no obvious answer. Kabir was now the best source of advice left to him.

‘What about us?’

The Syrian pointed back up the street.

‘I assume you wish to protect your standard?’

‘Of course.’

‘Unfortunately it’s rather exposed. Vulnerable to attack from three sides. Such a small force could not hope to last long.’

Cassius turned back towards the barricades.

‘With a bit of protection we might. What about reattaching the wheels and moving two of the carts to the square? Use them to make a triangle with the well at its base, the flagpole at its peak.’

‘A sound idea. But wouldn’t it offend your gods to fight so close to the temple?’

Cassius shrugged; at that moment he couldn’t have cared less. If the gods were watching over the garrison, he’d seen no sign of it. Their survival so far had been won solely through courage and ingenuity, and at considerable cost.

Kabir turned towards the square.

‘They have shown little interest in the western wall; the uneven ground and the palms make an assault awkward. Assuming they scale the walls to the north, south and east, they would not be able to see your position. Better to lead them to where we want them.’

‘What if we block the gate with a cart and make a token effort of resistance at the walls. Once they appear in numbers we shall retreat to the flag.’

Cassius knew already how to divide the men; he and Crispus would take half each.

Kabir continued: ‘With my men on top of the roofs next to the square, we will be able to attack as they approach. You draw them in and we will strike at their backs.’

Cassius nodded and they stood again in silence, each mulling over the makeshift plan.

Crispus approached, carrying the hand. The fingers remained frozen in a clawed grip, like the legs of a dead spider. Cassius had to look away.

‘Couldn’t get the ring off,’ announced the pragmatic legionary. ‘Stuck fast.’

Cassius pointed back at the square.

‘Just get it to him, would you? Then gather the men and bring them here at once.’

Though none of them said a word, Azaf could sense the reverence of his swordsmen as he walked along the rally line. It had been a long time since they had seen him fight. Now he stood before them without a mark on him, having dispatched three of the enemy and fought his way out alone.

He knew he had been reckless, arrogant even, in retreating last of all and exposing himself so. Still, the Roman attack had surprised him. It had been brave of those men to take him on. Brave but futile, and in fact he had been more concerned about the Syrian auxiliaries and their slings. He had been lucky to emerge unscathed, but the men seemed oblivious to this element of fortune. As he passed them, some bowed, others held their blades aloft. One swordsman simply clenched his fist over his heart.

‘Check your weapons,’ Azaf ordered. ‘Then divide yourselves into ten groups of equal size.’

Karzai approached, riding alone. He slowed his horse to a trot and guided it round the injured. They were mostly archers, waiting for the carts to return them to camp. Several bore horrific wounds to their heads and looked close to death. Until help arrived, they were on their own.

Ten ladders were now lined up behind the swordsmen. Once everyone was organised, Azaf planned to issue what he hoped would be his last set of instructions.

Karzai pulled back on his reins and Azaf held out a hand to stop his horse.

‘A message?’

‘Yes, strategos . A scout carrying word from General Zabbai. The first of his men will arrive in Anasartha tomorrow, his main force the day after that. He seems to be assuming that the fort will be within our hands by that time.’

‘And so it shall,’ replied Azaf firmly.

‘Of course.’

Karzai looked at the warriors. Those few with any water left were emptying their gourds.

‘There are a couple of barrels left. Shall I have them brought up?’

Azaf looked thoughtfully at the swordsmen for a moment.

‘No. Their thirst shall drive them on. Soon we shall have all the water we need.’

As the remaining legionaries shuffled into a loose line in front of him, Cassius gazed beyond them, again drawn to the bodies by the northern wall. Below the knee of one Palmyran a patch of flesh had been somehow peeled from the gleaming, blood-streaked bone.

Cassius turned away, struck by a recollection of his old life. Often, after a night of heavy drinking, images of violence and gore would appear amongst his thoughts. The visions had always distressed him and he could think of no logical explanation for them. They were products of his imagination, not based on anything he’d seen or experienced.