The third section seemed to be doing equally well. Crispus slammed his shield against a gap and leaned into it. Two men fell in beside him, jabbing their swords through the spaces above and below the shield.
‘Sir! Look there!’ cried Minicius, pointing left.
Perhaps realising they would struggle to batter their way through the carts, the Palmyrans were now attacking the network of connecting timbers close to where Cassius had just been standing. One length of wood splintered, then cracked in two. A Palmyran boot kicked through it.
Strabo arrived, pilum in hand, as another piece of timber was struck. Scrabbling fingers appeared at the edge of the plank but still the Sicilian held off. Another blow knocked one end of the plank away and now the unprotected belt and tunic of a Palmyran infantryman were visible.
‘Ha! Idiot!’
Strabo leaped forward, holding the pilum with both hands, and drove the point into the top of his victim’s thigh. An agonized shriek cut through the din. The blade had sunk at least two inches in and the Palmyran’s hands clawed desperately at the shaft as Strabo twisted it from side to side. Blood gushed on to the sand below.
‘Have some of that!’ the Sicilian thundered before wrenching the point free, leaving a ragged, gory mess behind. Hands gripped the Palmyran round the waist and he was dragged away.
‘Killing area-’ said Strabo, grinning as he shook a bloodied piece of quivering flesh from the pilum’s point ‘-good idea!’
Minicus, who had been watching alongside Cassius, bent over, dropped the tuba and spewed up what looked like the entire contents of his stomach.
‘Ha! Good lad!’ said Strabo, slapping the legionary on the back. Cassius took a deep breath and turned away, narrowly avoiding the same fate. With the southern side of the barricades holding well, he decided to check the north.
‘I’ll be back!’ he shouted. Crispus, still pressed up against his shield, nodded grimly as Cassius passed by.
Some of the Syrians, including Kabir, were gathered outside the closest dwelling.
‘Just give the word if you need us,’ he said, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
The apparent ease with which the carts were holding worried Cassius. It occurred to him that the first wave of Palmyrans might have no intention of really breaking through the barriers; that they were meant only to occupy the Romans while others attacked elsewhere.
He found the first section where he had left them, shouting encouragement to those manning the barricades.
‘Vestinus, take another man and check every part of the perimeter the sentries cannot see. I want you up on the steps, looking for any sign of enemy movement. Then report back to me.’
A second legionary volunteered himself. The two of them dropped their shields and jogged away down the street. Minicius had by this point managed to catch up and he joined the others, his face still pale.
‘The rest of you follow me,’ Cassius said as he continued on towards Avso’s men.
‘Are those carts?’
Bezda had left the rest of the cavalrymen at the rear to join Azaf, standing just in front of the horse archers. The ram had been withdrawn and the warriors had also removed both doors; firstly to clear the way, secondly to prevent the Romans from making further use of them.
‘Possibly,’ answered Azaf. He waved Razir over and pointed towards Teyya, who was standing just outside the gate.
‘Tell him to pass this on. I want men on the other side of those barricades. Any way they can. Pick of the spoils to any man who gets through!’
Just as Cassius arrived at the northern barricade, one of the fifth section was suddenly pulled forward by a Palmyran hand on his shield. As the legionary tried to wrench himself free, two enemy spears shot towards him. The first blow deflected off his helmet, but the second caught him in the cheek. The soldier did not cry out or fall; he just stood there, blinking, as blood ran down his face.
Other legionaries hauled him away. Palmyrans appeared in the spaces they had guarded, kicking and striking at the cart with their swords and spears, trying to make a hole big enough to fit through. The fifth section closed ranks as the enemy warriors pressed up against the entire length of the creaking cart. A breakthrough seemed imminent.
Cassius pointed his sword forward.
‘First section! Help them there!’
As the men rushed forward, Avso appeared. Seeing the danger quickly, he grabbed a pilum and leaped up on to the joining timbers between the two carts. He climbed on to the upturned side of the vehicle, used one hand to steady himself, then jabbed the spear down into the thronging enemy below. His first victim was a Palmyran whose shield and shoulder were almost through a gap when the spear gouged a chunk of flesh out of his neck. He gasped and fell backward.
Avso struck again, at another warrior trying to pull one of the timbers from the side of the cart. The pilum glanced off his helmet but the Thracian’s attack had drawn the attention of all the Palmyrans close by. The legionaries drove forward with their shields once again, plugging the holes.
Avso didn’t remain atop the cart for long. Several spears had by now been trained on him and one flew past as he dropped adroitly to the ground. He checked that the legionaries were back in control before approaching Cassius.
‘No more than fifty infantry. No second rank coming in.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Just probing perhaps. They know they’ll make a hole sooner or later. Might reinforce then.’
The injured man moved past them, assisted by another member of the fifth section.
‘Hold there,’ Avso said, examining the legionary’s face. The spear had cut across his cheek rather than into it.
‘You’ll be fine on your own. Get back here as soon as it’s dealt with.’
The injured man staggered away. Avso pushed the other legionary back towards the cart. Cassius continued on.
The fourth section were not as close to the cart as the others, preferring to stand back and lash out at any exposed flesh or protruding blade. There were no significant breaches; the tactic seemed to be working. Serenus was directing operations, a canteen in his spare hand.
‘That’s it, lads,’ he rasped. ‘Keep at it. Hold them there. We can keep this up all day!’ he added as Cassius approached.
‘We may have to!’
One of the legionaries turned away from the cart. It was Priscus, who pointed back over his shoulder, shouting something neither Serenus nor Cassius could hear. As they hurried over, the top of a Palmyran helmet appeared close to the wall.
‘They’re climbing the firing step!’
In an instant, the warrior had leaped up on to the side of the cart. His bearded yet youthful face bore not a trace of fear. His only protection was a sleeveless mail shirt, his weapon a short stabbing sword. The Palmyran hurled himself into the air, leaping clean over Priscus and Cassius. Rolling athletically in the dust, he sprung to his feet and launched himself at the Romans.
He first grabbed Priscus’ shield and wrenched it downward, then swung his sword. The blade sang as it struck the mail on Priscus’ shoulder then caught the side of his helmet, knocking him into the wall.
The Palmyran was still facing the tall legionary as Cassius closed on him, raising his sword with both hands. But as he drove it down towards the warrior’s wrist, the Palmyran turned and yanked his arm away. The blade missed, and Cassius’ clumsy swing left him off balance and vulnerable.
The Palmyran saw it and readied himself for an upward slash, straight into Cassius’ face.
But Priscus had by now recovered and he charged, shield up. Knocking the Palmyran’s blade to one side, he smashed the shield into his opponent’s chest.
Serenus and another legionary rushed past. As a second enterprising Palmyran hauled himself on to the cart, they drove their pila up at him. Neither weapon connected but the warrior lost his footing and fell back.