Cassius felt no impact against his own shield but saw two men down to his right. One was on his back, shield lying across him, an arrow in his knee. Incredibly, the legionary did not cry out. Another, who had been standing next to Iucundus, was also silent. He too lay on his back, tunic gathered in folds at his waist, an arrow shaft sticking up out of his forehead. Iucundus didn’t even bother to check him.
‘Now!’ yelled Strabo.
Minicius blew and the deep note sounded, clear and even this time. Cassius looked up at the dwelling roof.
The Syrians rose as one above the surround, a huddled black-clad mass, each of them with one arm already in the air. Their wrists spun and the cloud of lead whizzed away.
There were low pops and thuds as the projectiles struck the massed Palmyran troops. The sheer number of screams told the Romans that most of Kabir’s men had found unprotected targets. The next sound to reach Cassius’ ears was the familiar splintering of wood. Just a yard to his right was Strabo, peering over the top of his shield.
‘They’ve got those big cavalry lances. They’ll try to punch holes while the archers cover them!’
The Sicilian moved towards the barricade and drew his sword.
Cassius shuffled left to check on Crispus and his section. Two legionaries had been hit. The five still on their feet were warily approaching the cart, shields up. Crispus went to help one of the fallen legionaries, kneeling down in front of him and propping his shield up to protect them both. The arrow had caught the man high on his left arm and was stuck fast. He was sitting up, eyes tightly shut.
‘It’ll have to be cut out!’ Crispus shouted.
Cassius tapped the soldier on the leg.
‘Can you stand? Try and get yourself back to the aid post.’
The legionary opened his eyes. He stared blankly at the arrow shaft as he was helped to his feet. With an order from Cassius, Minicius dropped the tuba and escorted him away.
As Cassius and Crispus turned back to the barricades, two more lances smashed through. They were retracted, then thrust forward again, knocking a plank away. The timber fell at the feet of a legionary who swiftly advanced to defend the breach. As he moved, his shield dropped slightly. Before he had taken his second step, an arrow flashed through the gap and lodged itself in his face, knocking him straight on to his back.
More arrows flew through the gap. Cassius, Crispus and the other legionaries scattered. The injured man thrashed around in the dust, hands flailing. Cassius saw that the arrow had gone straight through his right eye socket. The eye itself had disappeared but the other was open, wide and alert even as the body became still. There was not a single drop of blood.
Strabo charged up and planted his shield across the top of the gap.
‘Crispus. Cover there!’ he shouted, nodding downward. Crispus was there in an instant, the top of his shield against the bottom of Strabo’s, completing the makeshift barrier.
Another arrow sliced through a plank and whistled past Cassius’ ear. He dropped down on his backside behind his shield.
‘You! Take over here!’ ordered Strabo.
Another legionary came forward and placed his shield behind Strabo’s, allowing the Sicilian to withdraw.
Cassius, still down on the ground, felt something tugging at the sleeve of his mail shirt. Macrinus was there on his hands and knees.
‘Four men down, sir. We need help.’
Strabo knelt down next to them.
‘Are the carts holding? Is there a large breach?’
‘More than one!’ answered Macrinus. ‘We can’t get close to the lances!’
A caltrop landed in the sand between them, thrown by some enterprising Palmyran. Unperturbed, Strabo looked up at the dwelling roof. Only one Syrian was visible above the surround. Strabo grabbed Cassius by the shoulder.
‘See how it looks from up there. Tell them to keep firing. They must take out the archers.’
‘Shall I send some of them down?’
‘Not yet. Just tell Kabir — the archers!’
Cassius scrambled away, holding his shield to his right as he made for the dwellings. The wounded man had gone but Minicius had returned. Cassius handed him his shield.
‘There. With Strabo.’
Minicius reluctantly took it. Before he could move, an arrow thudded into the side of the house. The signaller retreated.
‘Get low. Go!’
As Minicius crabbed away, Cassius took a quick count of the defenders. There were only nine legionaries still on their feet behind the southern barricade.
Inside the house he found his way barred by a Syrian descending the ladder. The man was using only his right hand to climb down; a Palmyran arrow was sticking out of his left shoulder. As the Syrian’s foot reached the ground, his eyes rolled up and he stumbled backwards. Cassius just managed to catch him. The warrior was still conscious but unable to keep himself upright.
‘Here. Let me help.’
Serenus appeared at the doorway. Cassius lowered the Syrian to the ground and the veteran took charge. Cassius started up the ladder.
The Palmyran archers were far from craven but they were used to operating hundreds of feet from the front line, safe in the knowledge that their horses could move them swiftly away from danger if need be. Few had ever fought on foot. None had ever experienced such an assault.
Caught completely unawares by the first Syrian volley, almost twenty of their number had been downed by the lead shot. Without the protection of a helmet, any kind of blow above the eyeline could inflict a serious or fatal injury.
Azaf knew the archers lacked the grit of his swordsmen.
He had shouted orders directly at them, instructing them to train their bows on the Syrians. Confident there was little danger from the barricades, he now looked out between two shields.
There were still at least fifteen active archers on both sides. And with only the two roofs to cover, they were able to keep the Syrians pinned down. Despite their speed, it took the slingers several moments to raise themselves, then complete the throwing action before release. The Palmyrans had already taken out several men on each roof before they could get their shots away.
Azaf moved close to the men at the northern barricade. They could now use their lances to tear the barricades apart plank by plank. Behind them, his swordsmen waited patiently for their chance.
Cassius crawled up into blinding sunlight to find the Syrians flattened against the roof. Five or six across, they were almost on top of each other in places, some lying on their chests, others on their backs. To his right, two men lay against the surround. One was dead. His legs had been folded back towards him to make space. The second stared up into the sky, still holding his sling, a Palmyran arrow lodged deep in his thigh.
Cassius stayed on the ladder for a moment, trying to spot Kabir. He caught sight of the scarred face of Idan, who reached across another man and tapped his leader on the shoulder.
Pushing two sets of feet out of the way, Cassius crawled on his belly towards the front of the roof. Twice his belt and sword got caught up with those he passed, but he freed himself swiftly and was soon alongside Kabir.
While down on the ground, he had imagined he would get a good view of the killing area from the roof but he now realised that was impossible. Not one of the Syrians seemed willing to raise themselves above the level of the surround.
‘You must keep firing!’ he shouted.
‘We cannot,’ answered Kabir resolutely, his face just inches away from Cassius’. ‘Any man that stands will be struck at once.’
Cassius had no doubt that Kabir’s fears were well founded, but there was simply no other option.
‘You are auxiliaries and part of this garrison. My men are sacrificing themselves. So must yours!’