In forcing the first Palmyran to the ground, Priscus too lost his balance and stumbled forward. The enemy swordsman kicked out as the legionary came down on top of him, hitting the shield and knocking him to one side. As soon as the Roman hit the ground, the Palmyran was on him.
The paralysis that had struck Cassius up on the gatehouse returned. Impulses and actions seemed to require double the effort and his leaden legs moved him towards the battling duo with a ruinous lack of speed. He knew he would be too late.
As Priscus tried to rise, the Palmyran smashed his left elbow down into the Roman’s face, then plunged the sword into his gut. Priscus’ head jerked to one side and he screamed.
Then Cassius was there. The Palmyran turned to face him but couldn’t raise any defence. Cassius swept his sword diagonally downward from right to left. The tip of the blade scraped across the mail at the Palmyran’s chest, then across his arm. The warrior’s sword fell from his hand.
Leaving his sword in the dust, the Palmyran scrambled away.
‘Don’t let him up!’ someone shouted.
Cassius had taken only three steps after the swordsman when something flashed across his field of vision.
The Palmyran collapsed to the ground as if his legs had been cut away. Lying sideways, he reached downward, fingers outstretched.
Impaled in the middle of his left calf was the barbed iron shaft of a pilum. The seven-foot spear swayed from side to side.
Avso strode towards the fallen warrior and drew his sword. The Palmyran held up his good arm, his only remaining defence. Avso kicked it away, stood over him, then jabbed the sword straight into his throat. The Palmyran’s body spasmed twice, then fell back, releasing the slick, red-stained tip of the blade. Avso wiped it clean on his victim’s tunic, then looked at the pilum. Seeing that removing it would take time, he walked away.
‘Never let them up,’ he told Cassius as he passed him.
Serenus and Minicius knelt by Priscus. The legionary looked strangely calm as he drank water from the canteen Minicius held to his mouth. Serenus, meanwhile, was widening the tear in his tunic, trying to examine the injury.
Cassius couldn’t bear to look over their shoulders. He had no wish to see the wound that would probably kill the young legionary; an injury that could have been avoided had he moved a little faster, had he defended Priscus as Priscus had defended him.
Instead he sheathed his sword. Even this took two hands, so badly were his fingers shaking. He glanced over at the other legionaries and imagined what they would be thinking. Their new ‘centurion’, for all his youthful enthusiasm and grand words, had turned out to be no more than a slow-witted liability, incapable even of dispatching an injured man at his feet.
‘Here,’ said Serenus to Minicius. ‘Place your hands across the cut and push down. It will hurt him but it must be done until the flow of blood slows.’
Minicius’ face was now as pale as Priscus’ but he did as he was told.
Serenus stood up and looked at the barricades. Avso had taken charge of both sections and was now moving along the line at pace, directing the men where necessary. Serenus took his cloth from his belt and wiped his fingers.
‘Mars has favoured him. It is a deep wound but more in flank than gut.’
Priscus was gazing up at them, trying to hear what was being said.
‘He’ll survive?’
‘Probably, if the wound stays clean.’
Cassius felt a slight surge of relief.
‘I shall fetch Simo.’
Serenus shook his head.
‘I shall send someone to do that. Were you struck?’
‘No.’
‘Call out if you need me,’ Serenus said to Minicius before he and Cassius hurried back towards the carts. Two more attackers hurled themselves at one legionary’s shield, knocking him off his feet. Another man saw them off with his sword while Serenus and Cassius helped the legionary up. He returned instantly to the line, slamming his shield in place between two planks.
‘By my estimation, that gate is at least eight feet high, perhaps ten wide.’ Bezda turned towards Azaf. ‘Enough for two horses to pass easily. Especially if there is clear space beyond.’
Razir and Teyya ran back from the fort side by side, the older man’s steady lope a contrast to the youngster’s eager trot. The sun had still not fully risen, and the gloom obscured their faces until they came close.
‘Well?’ asked Azaf.
‘I think one man got over, sir, but no other breakthroughs.’
‘How many of them are there?’ asked Azaf.
‘No more than fifty I should say, sir,’ replied Teyya, slightly breathless. ‘Well armed and equipped.’
‘Any sign of a reserve?’
‘No, strategos, though I couldn’t see much beyond the barriers. They are carts turned on their sides, arranged in a half-circle and reinforced. The Romans guard each hole with shield and lance. We have suffered some casualties but-’
‘How many?’ asked Azaf.
‘Five injured, five dead at the last count, sir. They have prepared well.’
Bezda leaned forward, resting a hand on his mount’s neck.
‘Any sign of heavier weaponry? Horse lances, mounted crossbows?’
‘No, sir. Not that I saw.’
Azaf gestured for Razir to come closer.
‘Your counsel?’
‘With a greater number of men directed in one area, we could create a breach, I am sure of it. Perhaps use the archers to soften them up first.’
Azaf looked beyond him, towards the walls of Alauran.
‘What about ladders at the corners? Put men in behind these barriers, distract them from the main assault.’
‘Strategos, please,’ interjected Bezda smoothly, ‘why risk dividing your men when we have such an advantage in numbers? My cavalry will account for those carts in moments. We shall push them aside or tear them to pieces. Allow us to smash a hole, then pour your infantry in behind us.’
‘You would risk your horses in such a confined space?’
‘Any battlefield is a confined space once a charge is done. And trust me, it would not remain confined for long. They will have no answer, I am sure of it. If you are willing, you may mass your men at the gate behind us, ready to exploit any advantage.’
‘Razir?’
‘They have been unable to do us much harm. It’s a reasonable position to defend but that’s all they have. I don’t see what they could do to the cavalry.’
Azaf looked at the gate once again. There was a good deal of logic to what the others had said but he maintained his doubts about deploying the cavalry against static defences, weak though they might be. The thought of the armoured horses mixing with his infantry at close quarters did little to ease his fears. Still, Bezda seemed confident.
‘The sun will grow hotter,’ said the cavalryman, ‘and my men have been in their saddles almost an hour. If you do intend to employ us, it will have to be soon.’
Azaf nodded curtly.
‘Teyya, listen carefully.’
‘How are we doing?’ Cassius asked Strabo as he arrived back at the southern barricade.
‘Well, we’ve killed three of them,’ said Strabo, without looking away from the cart. ‘How are the others faring?’
‘Not bad. Two of ours injured. Avso got at least two of theirs.’
‘Only two hundred and fifteen of them to go then,’ said Strabo, drawing grins from Gulo and Iucundus. ‘I just took a look over the wall. Purple Cloak is out there getting an eyeful. I reckon he’s just testing our numbers.’
Cassius moved back behind the legionaries and examined the scene in front of him. The fighting had now settled into a pattern. Men on both sides were keeping their shields between themselves and the enemy at all times. With the additional complication of the carts and the criss-crossing lattice of supporting timbers, accurate thrusts of lance or sword were few and far between. The initial fire of the Palmyran charge had died, while the legionaries were emboldened by the success of their defences. The Romans were now content to stand back and wait for the attackers to take the risks.