Bezda held out his lance and swept it across the length of the cart closest to the wall. He waved five men forward and continued the advance, only halting when the horses were two or three feet short of the timbers.
‘What about the caltrops?’ Cassius asked.
‘Not yet,’ said Strabo, moving to his right. ‘We must draw more of them in first. Gulo, stay back for the moment! And you others!’
Keeping the lance in one hand, its point lowered towards the ground, Bezda now urged his horse forward until its nose was inches from where the cart met the wall. The other riders filed in alongside him, mail coats scraping against one another, until they covered every yard of the cart’s length.
‘I’d hoped for some hothead,’ said Strabo, ‘but this one’s no fool.’
The Sicilian took a deep breath.
‘Let’s get stuck in then, second section!’ he shouted, dodging past the other legionaries and raising his pilum. He thrust the spear through a gap towards Bezda’s horse. There were shaped holes in the armoured coat for its mouth, eyes and ears. Strabo caught the animal halfway down its muzzle.
The horse seemed momentarily stunned but recovered swiftly as Bezda kicked down hard on its flanks. It shuffled forward and its armoured chest knocked the entire right side of the cart backward. One of the poles embedded in the wall snapped.
Bezda dropped his lance on to the side of the cart and jabbed down towards Strabo.
The Sicilian saw it coming and easily ducked out of the way, leaving Gulo to retaliate. The wily legionary knew better than to try to shatter the thick iron shaft so he instead grabbed it, hoping to pull it out of Bezda’s hand or, better still, pull him off his horse. He was so intent on doing so that he didn’t realise the other Palmyrans were now level with their leader.
A second cavalryman drove his lance towards Gulo. He struck with unerring accuracy, avoiding the Roman’s segmental armour and catching him just below the armpit. Cassius heard a horrifying crunch as the sharpened iron head tore into Gulo’s ribs. The Palmyran backed up, pulling the lance with him. Gulo fell limply to the ground.
Strabo cast his pilum aside, held the legionary by his armour’s shoulder straps and dragged him away from the cart. As soon as he stopped, a thick puddle of blood spread out under Gulo’s body. His eyes were shut tight, his face still. Strabo knelt close to him and put an ear to his mouth. After a moment, he shook his head.
All along the cart, the cavalry horses inched their way forward. Every lance was now pointing down at the Romans, daring them to attack. Led by Iucundus, three of the second section sheathed their swords and dodged under the lances. Crouching low, they held their shields against the timbers, trying to hold the cart in place.
Strabo left Gulo where he lay. Stepping casually between two of the lances, he grabbed the bundle of javelins and backed up, not taking his eyes off the enemy. There were five of the projectiles left.
He grabbed the first, aimed it at the Palmyran who had killed Gulo, and let fly. Though the range was no more than five yards, the Sicilian’s fury got the better of him and the javelin flashed over the cavalryman’s shoulder, disappearing somewhere over the gatehouse.
Cassius moved aside as Strabo reached for a second weapon and brought his arm back again. He took a breath this time and his shot was the better for it, hitting the Palmyran two inches above his eyes. The impact knocked him off balance and he slid sideways off his saddle. The Romans could all see the dent in the metal plate as he grabbed at the mail of the adjacent horse, then righted himself. The cavalryman shook his head, then raised his lance once more.
‘Leave that whore-son for me!’ snarled Strabo before dropping the rest of the javelins and recovering his pilum.
As the Sicilian charged back into the fray, Cassius forced himself to ignore the body of the dead legionary and called over to Minicius, who was standing with Crispus’ men.
‘Get ready.’
Minicius raised the tuba.
‘Short tones. We need the first section here.’
Minicius wiped some dust from the mouthpiece, then lifted the instrument high with both hands. His cheeks and his eyes widened as he blew. The notes were high-pitched and wavering, but loud enough to cut through the sound of the skirmish.
Just as he finished, the Palmyrans surged forward again. Two of the legionaries leaning up against the barriers were knocked to the ground as the cart jolted backward, splintering several of the joining timbers that connected it to the other vehicle. Strabo cast an anxious look at Cassius before jabbing his pilum back towards Bezda.
‘Crispus!’ Cassius shouted, moving to his left. ‘Men with shields over here!’
Crispus patted the shoulders of three legionaries and pointed them in the direction of the second section. Strabo told them to stand with the others against the cart, shields up.
Bezda turned round in his saddle and beckoned more of his men forward. These riders fell expertly into line alongside the others, facing the carts manned by Crispus’ men, until no less than fourteen of the armoured horses covered the entire width of the southern barricade.
A Palmyran lance shattered a plank then embedded itself in one of the third section’s shields. Crispus rushed to the man’s aid and the two of them heaved the shield backwards, wrenching the lance from the Palmyran’s grip. The cavalryman reached forlornly for his weapon as the Romans dragged it through the cart. A weak cheer went up as Crispus prepared to turn the weapon on its former owner.
Before he could make much use of it, Bezda looked down the line and signalled another push. The most eager were those who had just joined the melee. Three of them were close to the point where the carts met. The Palmyrans tied off their reins around the saddle horns and used only their legs to control the animals, leaving both hands free to wield the lances. In a few short moments, they had succeeded in dislodging or smashing half of the reinforcing timbers that stretched across the join.
The few legionaries close by did their best, hacking at the lances whenever they could, but it was an uneven contest. Thankfully, at that moment the men of the first section arrived.
‘There,’ cried Cassius. ‘Aim high!’
The soldiers pressed forward as a group, swinging their swords and driving their pila at the Palmyrans and their horses. Now forced to defend themselves, the attackers withdrew.
‘That’s it!’ Cassius shouted. ‘Keep them back!’
Strabo suddenly appeared in front of him, cradling three short timbers, a hammer and a handful of nails. He collared two legionaries and dropped the wood and tools in front of them, then pointed at the join, barely visible through a tangle of legs and tunics.
‘Do what you can to shore it up.’
As the men set about their task, Cassius looked over his shoulder at where Kabir stood.
‘Should we use some of the Syrians?’ he asked Strabo.
Just as he spoke, yet another defender was knocked to the ground as the cart shook with repeated impacts.
The Sicilian grimaced.
‘I’d hoped we could keep them out of sight — a surprise for the infantry — but yes, we must. If we can hold on, the cavalry will tire eventually. If they turn or break up we’ll use the caltrops.’
Cassius ran over to where Kabir was standing, surrounded by his men.
‘We need some help.’
‘Our shot will be of no use against them,’ warned the Syrian.
‘Not for that. We need more hands to keep the carts upright and in position.’
Kabir called out a series of names and commands. Eight of his men ran over to the barricades and Strabo directed them towards the base of the carts. Avso had also arrived, three pila under his arm.