Strabo, pressed close to the wall with his head bowed, stared expectantly across the walkway. Cassius realised he would do little for his own authority by letting the Sicilian speak for the garrison, but he feared he might make a mess of it. For all his supposed oratorical skill, he couldn’t even conjure a suitably belligerent reply.
‘Please.’
Strabo sat back against the rear wall and cupped his hands round his mouth.
‘We make our own choice!’ he bellowed. ‘We choose to fight! Then it is you who shall decide whether to surrender or die!’
The men roared, adding their own insults and beating their sword pommels against their shields.
Cassius heard a shout close by. He looked up and saw Flavian on his feet, a javelin in his hand, jeering at the Palmyrans. Before Cassius could act, something slammed into his helmet and a fiery pain exploded against his left ear.
‘Down!’ yelled Kabir, dragging him backward.
Still dazed, Cassius put a hand to his helmet, feeling at first only smooth metal, then a small, thumb-sized indentation. The arrow lay next to him, its point blunted. It had hit the surround before striking him, carving an inch-deep furrow in the clay.
Kabir shouted into his ear: ‘Stay low!’
Cassius looked up. Flavian was slumped forward, arms over the wall. The two arrows sticking out of his chest had gone clean through the plate armour. The javelin was still in his hand, an agonised snarl fixed on his face.
Avso went to help him.
‘Avso, no!’ yelled Strabo.
Arrows flashed through the air. The flat trajectory and power of the bows made them impossible to avoid, even if seen in flight. Cassius stared at Strabo’s back, unable to drag himself out of a numbing paralysis. Kabir appeared suddenly to his right, shouting at Avso.
‘Down! Down!’
But Avso was up on his feet, struggling to shift Flavian. An arrow pinged harmlessly off the Thracian’s chest with a metallic whine. Strabo scrambled over, grabbed at his belt and hauled him down. With the two of them finally back below the wall, the hail of arrows ceased.
Flavian managed to raise himself up off the wall but then his body jolted once more: a third arrow had hit him in the stomach. Arms flailing, his weight shifted forward and he toppled over the edge. There was a sickening thump as he hit the ground.
The silence that followed was broken by a distant shout from the Palmyran lines.
‘Stay below the wall! Stay out of sight!’ cried Strabo, checking his helmet was still intact.
Cassius could also make out Crispus’ voice, ordering legionaries away from the walls.
‘The tower,’ said Kabir, heading left on his hands and knees. Cassius saw Avso spring up and get a quick glimpse over the wall before scrambling away towards the other ladder. Cursing bitterly, Strabo went after him. Staying as low as he could, Cassius followed Kabir to the ladder and down into the tower.
‘You’ll keep watch?’
The Syrian nodded and planted himself in front of the arrow slit. Cassius continued downward, pushing his sword out to stop it catching on the rungs. Once outside, he saw Avso coming the other way.
The Thracian pushed his way through the legionaries to the gate and grabbed one of the reinforcing planks. Though most of the wood had been removed, the gate could not be unlatched without detaching the three hefty timbers left in place. Before he could draw his dagger and get to work on the nails, Strabo was on him.
‘No, you don’t. You’ll just get yourself killed.’
‘Stay out of this!’ spat Avso. ‘I can get to him! Someone lend me a shield.’
Flavian was screaming now.
Cassius looked on uncertainly. He felt the eyes of some of the younger men upon him. They were waiting for his instructions.
The more experienced legionaries, however, were of one mind and those close by came quickly to Strabo’s aid. Eyes bulging, muscles straining, Avso continued to struggle, landing several kicks as he shrieked curses at his compatriots. Strabo eventually managed to get an arm round his neck and wedge himself back against the gate. Other men locked Avso’s arms at his side.
Serenus appeared. His eyes were watering and there were droplets of blood on his chin. He held up his hands as he approached Avso.
‘You know we can’t open the gate! You know that.’
For a moment, it seemed the Thracian was about to give in. Then he kicked Strabo in the shin and managed to get a hand free. Before anyone could stop him, he had wrenched his dagger out and jabbed it back over his shoulder. Strabo grabbed his wrist, halting the blade an inch from his face.
‘Let me go, Sicilian,’ Avso hissed, ‘or I’ll put out an eye.’
Serenus and the others took a step backward.
‘I have two eyes, friend,’ answered Strabo evenly, tightening his hold as he spoke. ‘You’ve only the one neck.’
‘Centurion!’
It was Kabir, calling from the tower.
‘Strabo, you can let him go,’ said Serenus quietly. ‘As long as he pledges to leave the gate as it is.’
Avso weighed up his options remarkably quickly.
‘All right,’ he said after two breaths. ‘All right. Just let me go.’
Keeping his grip on Avso’s wrist, Strabo released his neck. He waited for the Thracian to step forward before letting go. Avso shot him a poisonous glare then made for the southern tower. The legionaries parted to let him through. He grabbed Statius by his tunic.
‘You get a rope! Gemellus, with me.’
Statius sprinted away towards the access gap. Avso and Gemellus disappeared into the tower.
‘Flavian’s as good as dead,’ said Strabo. ‘And with no one to blame but himself.’
‘Centurion!’ shouted Kabir again.
Strabo and Serenus started towards the northern tower but Cassius held up a hand, conscious of the disordered state of the men.
‘Wait. Get the four sections in position behind the carts. If we need to redeploy then so be it. Let’s just get them organised.’
Strabo took a quick look round. It was impossible not to notice the confused, frightened expressions on many of the faces.
‘You’re right.’
He and Serenus began separating out the men from sections two, three, four and five.
Cassius re-entered the northern tower. Feeling the heat of pain in his ear, he removed the helmet, releasing the chinstrap and squeezing it up over his head. He put a hand to his ear. It was swollen and tender but there was no blood. He climbed up to the first level.
‘They’re coming for Flavian,’ said Kabir, still kneeling in front of the arrow slit.
Cassius dropped down and shut one eye as he peered through the narrow opening. Thirty yards out, a group of eight Palmyrans carrying shields were advancing at a measured pace. The first row of four held their interlocked shields vertically, while the rear four were horizontal, a Roman-style arrangement that left them well protected from missile attack. They were not the only ones moving; both groups of horse archers were now just a hundred feet from the gate. Cassius could see the concentrated calm on their faces as they waited patiently for targets to reveal themselves.
Flavian cried out again. Avso shouted down encouragement.
‘What can we do?’ Cassius asked, retreating from the arrow slit.
‘Nothing,’ said Kabir. ‘They want him for what he can tell them. Better to kill him now while we have the chance.’
Cassius stared back at the Syrian.
‘Better for him too,’ Kabir added, standing up. ‘Also, I saw them moving the ram up. It won’t be long now. I’ll divide the men as we agreed and await your signal.’
Cassius nodded vacantly as Kabir clambered down the ladder. He pulled his helmet back on and headed up to the walkway once more. Statius had just arrived with a thick length of rope. Avso tied a double knot in one end and lowered it over the edge.
‘Flavian! Take hold of this. We’ll pull you up.’
Cassius risked the briefest glance over the wall. The eight Palmyrans had speeded up, though they were careful to keep their shield wall intact.