Nick Brown - The Siege

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.

Next to them, just visible beneath a pile of straw, was the top of a distinctive head. A shattering blow had punched a fist-sized hole in the side of Yarak’s skull.

A heavy hand landed on Cassius’ shoulder and he spun round. It was Antonius.

‘Centurion, we can hear them coming up the street!’

‘You three!’ Cassius shouted. ‘With me!’

The two legionaries had managed to pull the Syrian men clear. They joined the third, who had finished his murderous work, and duly followed.

To his surprise, Cassius found nine legionaries already gathered in the middle of the street. Only Crispus and another man were missing. All now looked towards the gate.

The Palmyrans had spread out across the full width of the street. Purple Cloak was in the centre, a pace ahead of the others. He marched on, cloak billowing behind him, sword still undrawn.

Some of the legionaries backed away.

‘The barricades?’ asked one.

For once, Cassius knew precisely what to do. Much of the rubble from the house had fallen into the street, narrowing its width to four or five yards.

‘Men with shields — form a wall!’

The men were all set to sprint back to the barricades. They looked at him doubtfully.

‘Hurry there! All of you!’

He grabbed Antonius and placed him at the edge of the rubble. The legionary seemed so surprised that he barely resisted. Cassius took hold of another man but the soldier shrugged him off.

‘I know the drill, sir.’

‘Come on! You seven with shields — complete the line. Form the wall!’

The standard command was enough to galvanise the men into action. Without a second order they planted their feet and began interlocking their shields.