He breathed deeply and then exhaled in a long, calm breath and threw his arm forward, releasing the shaft of the spear. It flew down from the wall, straight towards the two men.
'Macro! Look out!' The prefect shoved his friend aside an instant before the spear would have caught him squarely in the chest. Instead it struck the prefect, high on the left shoulder, the impact sending him sprawling into the sand and grit of the open ground before the temple wall.
'Ha!' Ajax snarled though gritted teeth, his face fixed in an expression of savage triumph. He just had time to spare the two officers one last look, as Macro stooped over his friend, and then Ajax snatched out his sword and turned back to the fight alongside him. Karim was still duelling with the same Roman, exchanging sword blows that rang sharply. But the legionary was one against two and even as he parried another thrust, Ajax hooked his blade around the edge of the shield and ran it through his enemy's arm, severing muscles. The shield slipped from the Roman's grasp and he instinctively recoiled a pace, out of range of their swords. At once two arrows slammed into him from above, piercing his sword arm in two places. The Roman howled in agony and staggered to the side and fell off the ramp, tumbling on to the bodies of those below.
The attackers at the bottom of the ramp hesitated, then one was struck in the face by another arrow and jerked up to his full height and trembled wildly for an instant before he dropped to the ground. There were more bodies on either side of the leading century as well as a handful of Arabs who had been shot down from the wall of the temple.
'Fall back!' a voice cried out. 'Fall back!'
There was a brief hesitation, then Ajax saw the legionaries begin to shuffle away from the end of the surviving ramp. More of them took up the cry and the leading century began to break up as it fell back towards the breach.
'Stop!' Macro bellowed at them. 'Stand your ground! Damn you! Cowards!'
Ajax saw him half rise as he cursed his men, then Macro looked down at the still figure at his feet. For a moment the centurion seemed torn, then he bent down and heaved his superior on to his shoulder and began to pace after his men under the awkward burden. Ajax felt sick to the core at the thought of his enemies escaping, then a handful of arrows landed in the sand close to Macro.
'Shoot at the officers!' Ajax shouted, stabbing his sword towards them. 'Shoot them down!'
In the frenzied excitement of the attack only those men nearest to him heard the order and had the presence of mind to pick out the two Roman officers. Ajax watched intently as more shafts whirled through the wavering light of the fire arrows still burning where they had landed. Macro picked up his pace, scrambling away as fast as he could, jinking from side to side to put off the archers' aim. An arrow glanced off the prefect's armour and another flew past Macro's helmet as he made a last dash towards a cluster of the screens that had been erected by the auxiliary archers. Macro unceremoniously dumped Cato down in their shelter and stumbled to his knees beside the prefect.
'Shit,' Ajax muttered furiously, clenching his spare fist. He continued to glare at the archers' screens as Macro dragged his friend in to make him as safe as possible from the Arab archers, whose arrows struck the screen or buried their iron heads into the dusty ground instead. Most of the men from the First Century had already reached the safety of the breach, or were also taking shelter behind the screens. As Ajax watched, the Romans continued to withdraw, the prefect protected by several archers holding their screens up as Macro and some of his men carried Cato to safety. As the last of the Romans fell back through the breach, Ajax ground his teeth.
'We should save our arrows, sir,' said Karim.
Ajax cleared his mind of rage and nodded. 'Give the order.'
'Cease shooting!' Karim called out to each side. 'Cease shooting!'
The Arabs stopped loosing their arrows and climbed down from the temple wall, leaving a handful to keep watch on the enemy. The last of the auxiliary archers pulled back to the other side of the breach and shortly afterwards the bolt throwers fell silent. The night air was disturbed only by a gentle breeze and the cries of the wounded, Roman and Arab blended in a chorus of agony. A handful of the fire arrows still burned, as did the braziers on the pylons and walls of the temple, casting a thin orange light across the scene of the Romans' first assault. They had lost over twenty men, Ajax estimated. But more than that, they had suffered a blow to their morale. The next time they came forward, they would know that they faced a storm of arrows and the same determined defence of the barricade. They would have to advance past the bodies of their comrades and ignore the pitiful cries for help from the wounded. The Roman commander would think twice before making a second frontal assault.
'What now?' Karim mused quietly. 'Do you think they'll make another attempt tonight?'
Ajax pondered for a moment. 'I would, if I was in their place. Every hour they are delayed here is an hour gained for Prince Talmis… They'll attack again.'
'Then what should we do, General?'
'Do?' Ajax smiled thinly. 'Nothing. I doubt that even our spy can help us now.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
'How is he?' Macro stood over his friend as the legion's surgeon carefully inspected Cato's shoulder by the light of an oil lamp held by his assistant.
The surgeon sucked in an impatient breath. Without looking up he spoke. 'I might be able to tell you, sir, if you would be kind enough not to stand between the light and my patient.'
Macro stood back a pace.
'Thank you.' The surgeon bent towards Cato and examined the prefect's shoulder. As soon as Macro had withdrawn from the temple compound, he had two of his men carry Cato back as far as the bolt throwers and then sent for the surgeon at once. Cato had struck his head on the ground as the impact of the spear knocked him off his feet. He had blacked out and came round as Macro and Hamedes had carried him away from the curtain wall. He was still dazed, but aware enough of the pain in his shoulder to curse and mumble incoherently. Macro had removed Cato's helmet, harness and scaled armour before the surgeon arrived and now Cato lay on a pile of straw in the corner of a small stable where the air was rich with the aroma of dung. Macro had ordered Hamedes to wait outside rather than crowd the space unnecessarily.
The surgeon eased the tunic off Cato's shoulder and looked closely at the discoloured flesh. 'No open wound. That's good. He was hit by a spear, you say?'
'Yes. Seemed to catch him square on.'
'Hmmm.' The surgeon touched the flesh as lightly as he could and traced his fingers along the collarbone. 'No breaks there. I'll have to probe the shoulder joint. It's going to hurt. I'll need you to hold him down.'
Macro knelt down and firmly grasped Cato's uninjured arm with one hand and pressed his chest back with the other. 'Ready.'
The surgeon leaned forward and gently took hold of Cato's shoulder in both hands. He felt softly for any sign of broken bones or the slackness of torn muscle tissue. Cato's eyes rolled up and he groaned in agony. Satisfied with his superficial examination the surgeon probed more deeply into the shoulder.