‘Rather magnificent, aren’t they?’ observed Cassius.
‘Rather deadly,’ added Kabir.
The first two lines of warriors behind the ram fell out of formation then marched south, crossing in front of the horse archers.
‘Something’s up,’ said Cassius.
‘Are the bows raised?’ asked Serenus.
Cassius checked carefully.
‘No.’
‘Then we should perhaps observe from above.’
‘Agreed.’
Cassius kept watch as the others clambered up the ladder in turn. A group of about twenty archers had broken ranks with the swordsmen and now continued south, walking parallel to the rally line.
Last up to the walkway, Cassius positioned himself between Kabir and Serenus. A second mixed group of infantry and archers was moving north. Each detachment was being trailed by a single cart. The southerly group had now turned ninety degrees, maintaining the two-hundred-yard gap as they neared the mounted sentry opposite the south wall.
‘Encirclement,’ said Serenus quietly. ‘They mean to attack the north and south walls too. Probably ladders in those carts.’
‘So much for the killing area,’ added Strabo.
‘I’ll fetch Minicius,’ said Serenus. He let Avso up before climbing down the ladder.
‘Syrian,’ said Strabo, ‘you should put some of your men at the walls now. If one side falls we’ve had it.’
‘Not yet,’ said Avso as he sat down. ‘We should still concentrate our main force at the gate. They are.’
‘And leave thirty men holed up in houses for no good reason?’ countered Strabo.
The three Romans were huddled together, heads below the wall. Only Kabir was still looking out at the Palmyrans.
‘We discussed this,’ Cassius said firmly. ‘The Syrians will be best used behind us, against the enemy in the killing area. If the walls are threatened-’
Strabo cut him off. ‘What do you mean “if”? They-’
Before he could continue, Kabir interrupted.
‘You may want to see this.’
Azaf was now the only swordsman still on his horse. Just ahead of him was the ram and the ten armoured men stationed by its wheels. Gathered behind him were the ranks of infantry, blades drawn and shields up, ready to move. Azaf had insisted that Razir repeat the orders to his lieutenants now at the northern and southern flanks. What he had planned was unconventional and not without risk. It would require considerable patience and discipline.
‘Give the order.’
‘Yes, strategos.’
Razir unleashed a deep, penetrating cry.
‘Forward!’
The Palmyran forces on three sides of Alauran — swordsmen, cavalry and archers alike — advanced as one.
Realising his helmet was loose, Cassius reached for the chinstrap. The floor below him was pocked with marks created by boots, spear ends and sword points, revealing the pale grey clay under the white paint. He stared at it, eyes glazing over. Now it was the turn of the Palmyran infantry to beat their sword handles against their shields; a rhythmic, insistent clamour that dulled the senses. It took Cassius a while to realise he couldn’t adjust the strap because his fingers were shaking so much. Clenching them tightly, he saw that the others were ready to leave.
‘At least the waiting’s over,’ said Strabo, shouting over the noise of the enemy.
‘Good,’ added Avso.
‘We should be with our sections,’ continued the Sicilian.
‘Where’s Minicius?’ Cassius asked.
‘Here, sir,’ said a shaky voice.
Minicius was already up on the walkway and sheltering behind Avso, the tuba between his feet.
Kabir crawled away and was followed swiftly down into the tower by Avso.
Cassius felt a sudden surge of panic. Things were happening quickly now. Too quickly.
‘Come on,’ Strabo said, his tone almost paternal as he gestured for Cassius to follow him.
A shout from Minicius halted them.
‘Sir!’
‘What is it?’
‘They’ve stopped.’
Whatever Minicius was talking about, Cassius knew it wasn’t the clattering of the shields: the rumbling cacophony suggested the Palmyrans were just yards from the gate.
‘So they have,’ said Strabo.
‘How far out?’ asked Cassius.
‘Eighty feet. Bows still down. Even the rammers have stopped.’
Strabo then checked the flanks.
‘The others too. Strange.’
It soon became clear that this was more than a momentary interruption to the assault. The noise continued — archers and cavalry adding to the clamour — but still the advance did not come. With Strabo keeping watch, Cassius and Minicius crouched down, eyes locked on the Sicilian, awaiting any clue as to what might happen next.
‘What game is this, Purple Cloak?’ said Strabo.
Abruptly the noise stopped and the end of a shouted order was audible.
Strabo checked the flanks once more.
‘Just standing there.’
‘What do you make of it?’ asked Cassius.
‘Perhaps they wish to confuse us. Wear us down.’
As they sat there, awaiting the single shout that might finally signal the start of the battle, Cassius realised how much the temperature had dropped. Twilight was near. He looked across at Strabo.
‘You seemed sure they wouldn’t attack at night.’
‘I was.’
Azaf sensed unease all round him. The men didn’t understand why they had been ordered so close to the walls only to stand to. Neither did they understand why he had delayed the attack throughout the afternoon and evening. Still, it was not their place to question his methods. Even Razir had not voiced his concern, simply passing on the orders without comment.
Bezda, however, was another matter. When the messenger finally arrived from the rear, Azaf was surprised it had taken so long. The nervous-looking cart driver was escorted forward by Razir. He at least had the sense to bow. Azaf told him to speak.
‘Sir, a message from Master Bezda. His horses and men are tiring. With respect, he asks when the attack will commence. Or whether it will commence at all.’
Azaf looked up at the darkening sky. Around him, men listened intently.
‘Tell him he will have a decision soon.’
‘Yes, strategos.’
The driver bowed again and began his trip back through the lines.
Razir paced in front of Azaf’s horse, twisting tufts of his beard between finger and thumb. After years spent living and fighting together, Azaf could tell when his most trusted warrior had something to say.
‘Spit it out then.’
Razir put a hand upon the horse’s neck, looked up at Azaf, and spoke to him in hushed tones.
‘The light fades, sir. If I knew what you had in mind-’
Azaf gave a thin smile.
‘Patience, Razir. Patience.’
As the red sun dropped below the horizon, the silhouettes of individual horsemen and soldiers merged, then were lost to the darkness. Blinking and rubbing their eyes, Strabo and Cassius peered out, trying to discern any suggestion of movement. Occasionally Strabo would turn north or south, concerned that the forces on either flank had already begun some covert advance. Cassius would turn too, convinced the Sicilian had seen something. After one such occasion, they turned back east just as the Palmyrans lit the first fire.
What began as an orange dot was soon a blaze several feet high, joined by another, then another. Sparks drifted into the sky. Sometimes a shape would pass close by, illuminated by the flames. The first three fires marked the rally line but before long more were alight to the north and south.
To Cassius, the message seemed obvious: the Palmyrans didn’t want the darkness to offer the Romans even the slightest relief. Alauran was still surrounded; the garrison was still trapped. The attack would still come.
XXVIII
There were only two fires burning inside the walls of Alauran when darkness fell. One had been started by the Syrians to light their torches, the other was at the officers’ quarters, where Simo had a large pot of water boiling to clean sheets for use as bandages.