Behind the ram were the foot archers and behind them blocks of spearmen who would force their way into the city once the gates had been smashed in. They looked very colourful in their red tunics and yellow leggings, though as far as I could see they wore no armour on their bodies or heads. Armed with short stabbing spears and oval wicker shields, they would be useless in a battle but very effective for butchering civilians if they got into Assur. The archers and spearmen were grouped in blocks that numbered around a thousand men: two thousand archers and five thousand spearmen in total. Seven thousand Armenians were about to assault the Tabira Gate.
Herneus received reports from the other two gates that approximately the same number of Armenians was deployed against them — over twenty thousand troops against six hundred.
‘Long odds, majesty,’ he said without emotion.
‘Hopefully we can thin their numbers before they reach the gates,’ I replied. The Amazons were now lining the walls either side of the Tabira Gate and were inside the gatehouse itself, ready to shoot at the oncoming enemy. Full quivers lay on the parapet behind each Amazon, though I was concerned that there appeared to be too few for our requirements.
‘My lords and Lord Silaces took many quivers with them when they rode to Hatra,’ reported Herneus.
‘We will need runners, then,’ I replied.
Gallia looked at me. ‘Runners?’
‘Boys, children, majesty,’ replied Herneus, ‘who run around picking up the arrows that the enemy shoots into a city under siege.’
‘They run the risk of being hit by other arrows while they do so, surely?’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘If the enemy captures the city they will be either killed or enslaved anyway. See to it Herneus.’
He bowed his head and left us at the same time as those who had answered my summons from the civilian population began to ascend the steps to the parapet. My heart sank when I saw them. Most of them were either very old or crippled and deformed in some way: humpbacked, bandy legged, crook-backed or one-eyed.
‘This lot would be better off dead,’ I mumbled.
Gallia jabbed me in the ribs. ‘As they have volunteered to stand against the enemy the least you can do is show some courtesy.’
I smiled at her. ‘If it will amuse you, my sweet, then of course.’
An elderly man, tall with sinewy arms turned dark brown by years in the sun, was brought before us by one of the garrison’s officers. He must have been over seventy at least and had a bow slung over his shoulder.
He went down unsteadily on one knee before us. ‘I am Asher, majesty, and have been instructed to report to you.’
Gallia walked forward and helped him to his feet. ‘Rise, Asher. We are glad you and your men are here, are we not Pacorus?’
‘Ecstatic,’ I replied without conviction, earning me a Gallic glare.
‘I served under your grandfather, King Sames, majesty,’ Asher declared with pride.
I nodded. ‘I am sorry that the Armenians have dragged you out of retirement, Asher.’
‘I can shoot a bow as well as any man, majesty,’ he said defiantly.
‘I have no doubt,’ I replied, doubting whether his aged eyes would be able to even see the Armenians let alone shoot at them. ‘You and your men will take up positions either side of my wife’s warriors.’
‘The famed Amazons,’ he beamed.
‘Indeed,’ I said.
‘They’re coming,’ shouted Spartacus behind me as suddenly the air was filled with the din of drums and horns.
I turned and walked to the steps next to the shooting position he was standing behind and stood on them so I could see over the battlements. Already arrows were hissing through the air and striking the walls as the archers behind the ram began shooting at us.
I jumped down. ‘To your positions!’ I shouted.
Asher and his hundred misshapen wretches were directed to their positions as Gallia kissed me on the lips. ‘The gods be with you.’
‘And you,’ I replied.
She stood next to Zenobia as I pointed at Scarab and Spartacus. ‘You two are with me.’
I ran into the gatehouse and then ascended the steps to the roof clutching my bow with two quivers slung over my shoulder. Each quiver held thirty arrows and on average a skilled archer could loose up to three aimed shots every seven seconds, but such a rate of arrow expenditure would soon exhaust our ammunition supplies and also our archers, particularly the Amazons. Like all Parthian archers they used recurve bows made from sinew, horn and wood, but because they were women their bows were slightly smaller and thus had a reduced draw weight so they would tire less quickly. It did not mean their arrows were any less deadly than those used by any of my other soldiers, though. A bow is, after all, no more than a spring whose power comes from its user and the springs of the Amazons were deadly.
I watched the ram edge closer to the walls and above the tumult of the horns and drums I could hear the curses of the officers who were in charge of it as they shouted at their men to redouble their efforts. Behind the machine the blue-uniformed archers maintained a steady barrage of missiles at the gatehouse and walls, and then the Amazons began shooting.
The ram was around six hundred paces from the walls when their arrows were shot from the battlements. Gallia had given orders that half the Amazons were to shoot at the men pushing the ram, the other half loosing missiles at the archers behind them. Above all they were to shoot accurately.
Loosing arrows at a steady rate of five every minute, soon unprotected enemy archers were being felled as bronze tips landed among their densely packed ranks: two hundred and fifty arrows being shot at them every minute. The other half of the Amazons, including all those in the gatehouse, shot at the approaching lumbering ram. I released an arrow then nocked another, my nephew beside me relishing the chance to show off his archery skills to Scarab beside him. He shot an arrow, nocked another, shot that and then strung another in the space of a few seconds.
‘Don’t waste arrows,’ I told him. ‘Choose your targets.’
He flashed a grin. ‘Even Scarab could not miss that ram, it is so large.’
Arrows clattered against the walls and hissed overhead as the Armenian archers tried to silence our shooting. But Assur’s defences had been well designed and it was all but impossible to shoot an arrow through the slits in its battlements from several hundred paces away.
Many of the ram’s crew were hit and disabled and killed, but replacements were sent from the ranks of the spearmen who were following the archers. Individuals ran forward holding their shields above their heads as they tried to reach the ram. Most did but some were hit and collapsed to the ground with arrows in them as more of their comrades were despatched to take their places. And all the time the ram got closer to the gates.
I left my position and ran to the right side of the gatehouse to check on Gallia. There she was, calmly selecting a target and loosing an arrow. I kept my head down for the volume of enemy arrows being shot at us was prodigious. I saw Asher pull back his bowstring and release it, and then watched the man beside him jump onto a step to look over the wall and being struck in the face by an Armenian arrow.
I returned to my shooting position and used another five arrows then reached again into my quiver. Empty!
‘Arrows!’ I shouted but there were none left and one by one those either side of me stopped shooting once they had exhausted their ammunition. After a while only empty quivers remained.
I looked ahead and could see the amount of missiles being directed at the enemy was dropping alarmingly as we ran out of arrows. I ran down the steps to the next level and out onto the parapet. Gallia and some of her Amazons were still shooting but the others were similarly out of arrows.