Although Bezda was content to press forward, deterring any adventurous defenders with his lance, some of the less experienced cavalrymen were running out of patience. Two of the horsemen to his right waved back those behind them and managed to retreat several yards, then drove their mounts straight into the cart. The horses turned their necks at the last moment but the impacts were almost simultaneous; powerful enough to knock the supporting timber out of place.
It fell down and to the right, striking Iucundus across the back. His howl of pain was curtailed as the air was driven from his lungs and he slammed into the ground. Two of the Syrians instantly replaced him at the shield, babbling away to each other as they desperately tried to keep the crucial chunk of metal upright. Close to Cassius’ feet, Iucundus struggled for breath, unable even to push the timber away. With both hands occupied, Cassius couldn’t help him.
Kabir sent one of his men to aid the fallen Roman. Cassius looked over his shoulder to find that the Syrian had loaded his sling but hadn’t fired.
‘Can’t you do anything?’
Though range was obviously not a problem, Kabir could see almost nothing to hit. The eye slits on the Palmyran helmets were narrower than the lead pellet in his hand.
Bezda, the rider closest to him, craftily ensured that his bare hands remained out of sight.
The two riders who had just charged, however, were not so careful. They held their lances high, still trying to smash through the planks. Their hands, sticking out from the sleeves of their mail shirts, were utterly unprotected.
Kabir had kept his sling down by his side. The lead shot was now cradled in place and his finger and thumb were secure on the release strap.
When one of the cavalrymen momentarily rested his lance against the top of the cart, the Syrian took his chance. Almost casually raising the sling to his shoulder, he whipped it round in an instant, releasing the shot before any of the attackers even realised what he was doing.
There was a sharp crack as the shot shattered the top of the Palmyran’s hand. Too shocked even to make a sound, he stared down dumbly at the torn flesh and broken bones. The lance slipped out of his hand, no longer held by functioning fingers.
Confusion struck those around him. Even Bezda paused for a moment as they all stared at the hand. One man reached out to prop him up, instantly presenting Kabir with his second target.
Having reloaded the instant the first shot was away, he fired again. This one was slightly high, ricocheting off the Palmyran’s mail just above his wrist.
Now Bezda had run out of patience. He spun round in his saddle and saw that the rest of his force were now inside the gate. There were three ranks behind him, all of his twenty-four cavalrymen.
He extended his spare arm, waved it across the width of the assembled riders, then pointed directly at the cart ahead. Those at the front now withdrew their lances and concentrated solely on forcing the cart aside, backward or over. Any gaps still remaining between the ranks of horses disappeared. The heads of the animals next to the carts were forced up as their hooves pummelled the ground.
Cassius looked up for a moment and saw the edge of the cart bending once more. He could smell the familiar oily musk of the horses, hear them puffing and snorting as the Palmyrans forced them mercilessly on.
A stray elbow smacked against his helmet as one of the Syrians lost his footing. The second man couldn’t hold the shield alone and the last pole snapped, sending the shield straight into his legs. Cassius turned in time to see him tumble backwards, clutching at his shins. As Kabir dragged the injured man away, Cassius helped the other Syrian to his feet. Just as he got his hands back on the nearest plank, it snapped in two, one half spinning away above his head, the other hitting the ground between his boots.
He glimpsed glittering chain mail to his right as Bezda’s horse finally forced its way into the gap, pushing the cart a full two yards away from the wall. Bezda kept his lance horizontal, protecting the head of his steed. The smile etched on his face mask now appeared fittingly triumphant and to Cassius the unblinking eyes above now seemed lit by fire.
There were sixteen defenders trying to hold the cart in place but they were no match for the combined might of the cavalry horses. Bent low, Cassius watched his boots being pushed back in the dust.
The Palmyrans were cheering; a triumphant cry that rose in volume with every inch gained. Like the Romans, they knew that a large breach in the barricades would effectively end the battle.
Cassius glanced again to his right. Bezda switched his lance to his left hand and reached for his sword.
Cassius knew then that he had to move. All other thoughts had been forgotten in the struggle to defend the barricades, but that battle was lost. Strabo was nowhere to be seen. He had to leave before it was too late: round up the others, grab Minicius and sound the retreat.
He let go of the cart, stood up and turned round. What he saw stopped him cold.
Trotting towards the eastern wall, necks bobbing up and down, were the three camels. Close behind were Strabo, Statius and Antonius, all wielding flaming torches and intent on driving the animals towards the barricades. As they passed through what had been the Syrian encampment, Statius sprinted left to cut off the narrow gap between the carts and the corner of the houses.
The big female, perhaps disturbed by the noise of the battle or smelling the many horses ahead, veered to the right. Strabo was there in an instant, waving the torch at the animal’s face. With a flash of teeth, she swung her neck away, the others in tow as she cantered towards the eastern wall.
At first it seemed Strabo’s efforts had been for nothing. The camels slowed as they reached the wall, turned away from the carts and edged towards the corner.
Bezda hadn’t drawn his sword. Cassius saw that the Palmyran too was fixated on the bizarre scene in front of him. Though his horse was now halfway through the gap, his right leg was still stuck on the other side of the cart.
Strabo, Statius and Antonius formed a line and stalked towards the animals, torches held out in front of them.
‘Closer!’ Strabo shouted. ‘Push them left!’
Antonius cut off the path to the south-east corner. Now Strabo and Statius had the camels trapped against the wall.
‘Towards the horses!’
The men at the barricade realised what was going on. Heads came up, hands eased. There was a sudden jolt as the cart was prised further away from the wall.
‘Keep at it there!’ yelled Avso.
Bezda’s leg was now past the cart; he was finally free to attack the Romans.
His horse, however, had suddenly become still, nostrils flaring, ears twitching. The riders behind him slackened their reins and looked on.
The camels were now just five yards from the barricades. At the shoulder, the big female was a good foot taller than the cavalry horses. Swinging her head from side to side and scraping her hooves against the ground, the enraged beast bared her teeth and spat; some landed in the sand by Bezda’s horse.
‘Yah!’ shouted the Palmyran, kicking downward again, desperate to force his animal into action.
There was a curious moment of quiet. Then, with a shrill whinny, the horse jerked its head up and lurched suddenly to the left, smashing into the wall and knocking a sizeable dent in the clay. Bezda lowered the grip on his lance and brought it down hard against the horse’s side but it had no effect. Straining to turn its neck away, the animal dug its hooves in and began to back up.
Seeing a chance, two daring Syrians closed on the retreating beast, but Kabir called out and halted them mid-stride.
Bezda stifled a grunt of pain as the horse threw itself sideways again, this time to the right, slamming his leg against the cart.
Whether it was the sight and smell of the camels, or the reaction of Bezda’s mount, fear spread quickly through the closely packed horses. Suddenly, all the riders in the front rank were fighting for control. Any horse that sensed space behind or beside it retreated or turned. The animal directly behind Bezda’s began to buck uncontrollably. Its rider was thrown against the wall. He fell, then screamed as he was trampled by his own steed.