Nick Brown - The Siege

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.

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.