Mazat was one of Bezda’s longest-serving and most reliable riders. As strong, experienced and expert in the saddle as his commander, he too had seen the Romans. Similarly enraged by the sight of his fallen fellows being dragged away, he turned and found Bezda just behind him, sword freshly drawn.
Though there were now only two horses between him and the gate, Mazat wheeled his mount round and brought it alongside Bezda. The cavalry commander nodded at him and aimed his sword at the Romans. Mazat turned round and dropped the loop at the rear of his lance neatly on to a saddle horn.
‘Look there!’ yelled Iucundus, pointing at Mazat. ‘See the dent above his eyes where the javelin hit? That’s the bastard that did for Gulo!’
Just as the Romans formed up to face the Palmyrans, the cavalrymen launched their charge.
The legionaries separated: Avso and Statius to the left; Strabo and Iucundus to the right. Strabo would get no immediate opportunity for revenge as he and Iucundus now faced Bezda, who was fractionally ahead of Mazat. The two Romans had already dropped their staves and drawn their swords. They waited until Bezda was just yards away before dividing again, springing to the side, then turning back, hoping to grab hold of something.
Bezda guessed their intentions and yanked his reins to the right. Iucundus was unable to react in time and the horse’s chest caught him high, knocking him to the ground. With the animal almost stationary after its dramatic turn, Strabo took his chance.
He lunged at the Palmyran’s belt with his free hand, but though he got a good grip, Bezda twisted round and slashed downward. Unable to bring his sword up to parry in time, Strabo had to let go.
Just yards away, Avso and Statius were standing together, swords at the ready. Mazat had missed them with his first charge and now brought his steed round. He kicked on and the weary horse managed enough stuttering steps to get up some speed. This time Mazat aimed straight for Statius and locked his eyes on the Roman, his lance wedged under his arm.
Retreating as the horse bore down on him, Statius’ foot caught one of the caltrops and he stumbled backwards. By the time he had recovered, the Palmyran was on him.
Mazat struck an unerring blow just above the top of the legionary’s segmental armour. The weapon ripped clean through his neck and, had it not been for the saddle horn, Mazat would have lost it.
Statius died instantly, blood geysering from the wound as his body crumpled.
Mazat wrenched the lance free and wheeled his horse round to face Avso.
Worried that more of the men might be tempted out into the killing area to help, Cassius hurried back to the northern barricade. He arrived to find that Serenus shared his concern: the veteran was watching the fight unfold with his pilum blocking the way of any overzealous legionaries. Several were shouting encouragement and jabbing their swords in the air. Cassius squeezed through and stood at Serenus’ shoulder.
‘Sir, can’t we help them?’ asked one man.
Serunus spun round and glared at him.
‘I’ve already told you twice, soldier. That gate is wide open and there’s more than a hundred men outside. We hold the line. No one else leaves this barricade.’
Strabo had already hit Bezda three times, to no obvious effect. He could see that the Palmyran was tired, his defensive parries were lethargic and weak, but while still in the saddle Bezda maintained the upper hand.
The Sicilian stepped back and looked around. Statius’ body was close by. He could hear the sounds of blade on blade behind him. There was no sign of Iucundus.
He swung one-handed and Bezda blocked again. This time, however, Strabo pushed his sword up, forcing the Palmyran’s blade back while he reached out with his other hand. Gripping a handful of mail, he hauled downward, trying to dislodge his foe. Only the combination of the four-horned saddle and Bezda’s horsemanship kept him in place. He tried to turn his horse away but the exhausted animal was no longer capable of moving; it was struggling even to support the weight on its back.
As the two of them fought, Strabo caught a glimpse of movement below him. He looked down. A large, brown hand appeared.
Mazat’s horse was also fading fast. As Avso advanced, eyes fixed on the point of the lance, the Palmyran flung the weapon upward. The handle turned over in the air and the blunt end landed on the Roman’s arm, knocking the sword from his hand. Mazat swung one leg over the saddle horns and dropped to the ground, drawing his sword just as Avso recovered his own.
The cavalryman knew his own strength was almost gone. Over Avso’s left shoulder he could see the last of his fellow riders making their escape through the gate. Seeing the agile-looking Roman raise his sword, he decided on a simple tactic.
Avso was unprepared for the charge. By the time he got his blade up Mazat was already on him. The larger man slammed into the Thracian’s chest.
They hit the ground hard. Avso was pinned; he couldn’t move his sword arm. Blinking through the sunlight, he saw a gleaming blade closing on his throat. He somehow got his spare arm free and clamped his hand on the Palmyran’s wrist.
Strabo continued to spar with Bezda, their blades clanging as they exchanged half-hearted strikes, neither able to mount a telling attack.
Suddenly the horse’s armoured coat seemed to slip, then the saddle too. Strabo saw Iucundus crouching under the horse, gripping the main saddle strap. The lanky legionary hauled it towards the ground, catapulting Bezda sideways.
Strabo only just leaped back in time to avoid the falling cavalryman. Bezda landed heavily on the ground at his feet.
Iucundus caught a hoof in the stomach for his troubles. He lay on the ground, winded, as the animal charged away towards the gate.
Strabo readied himself to drive his sword pommel down on to Bezda’s head.
‘Avso!’ cried Iucundus, unable to help the Thracian himself.
Strabo whirled round to see Mazat dwarfing the helpless figure beneath him, forcing his sword down towards Avso’s neck.
Just as Strabo turned back, Bezda threw a handful of sand up into his face. Half blinded, Strabo clawed at him but the Palmyran was intent only on escape. He tripped over a horse and stumbled away towards the gate.
Eyes streaming, Strabo ran the few yards to the grappling opponents. He couldn’t see well enough to risk a swing of his sword so he dropped it and stood behind the kneeling Palmyran. He ran his hands down over the front of Mazat’s helmet, grabbed the bottom rim, then pulled upwards. Hoping to expose the Palmyran’s neck and distract him long enough for Avso to use his blade, he pushed his knee into Mazat’s back, gripped hard with his fingers, then wrenched the helmet up again.
The sickening crunch that followed was heard by many of those watching from the barricades. Feeling the Palmyran’s head go limp in his hands, Strabo realised he had snapped Mazat’s neck. He let the lifeless body tip over, then stood aside, still wiping his eyes.
‘My thanks,’ said Avso.
Strabo helped the Thracian to his feet.
‘My pleasure.’
Bezda fell to his knees, undid his chinstrap and tore off his helmet, taking a good deal of hair and skin with it. His face was more red than brown, his cheeks almost purple. Coughing hard, he pushed matted strands of hair from his face.
He glanced up to see Azaf walking past him.
‘Strategos. I-’
With not even the slightest acknowledgement, Azaf continued on, past the archers, towards the infantry. Razir hurried over to meet him.
‘Withdraw all ranks to the rally line,’ Azaf said calmly. ‘Allow them to rest and have water brought up. I’ll address them soon.’
XXXV
Strabo and Avso stood in silence, helmets under their arms, solemnly staring down at Statius. Someone had wrapped a sack round his throat to cover the terrible wound. Iucundus was there too; he had removed his armour and held both hands against his ribs, grimacing with every breath. Cassius and Serenus were close by, supervising the other legionaries as they worked manically to cover the gap with fresh planks of wood.