Cassius darted inside.
‘Out! All of you — out!’
A couple of the legionaries turned round but Antonius and three others were locked in a deadly struggle on the other side of the room.
A third crack and the supporting timber across the door frame gave way. It landed in two halves behind Cassius.
‘Out! Out!’
He pushed the two closest legionaries towards the window. Apart from Antonius, the others had also seen the danger. They passed Cassius and made for what remained of the doorway. Only a single Palmyran was left on his feet, shrinking into the corner behind the ladder.
‘Antonius, now!’
Cassius grabbed one of Antonius’ armour straps and wrenched him round.
‘We are leaving! Now!’
Wood, mud and straw fell round the two Romans as they charged for the window.
The cart blocking the gate had finally been pushed clear. Azaf ordered three men inside. Seeing there was no danger, he followed them, stopping in the middle of the killing area as the rest of the swordsmen spread out behind him.
He looked for the standard but it was now obscured by the curious pall of dust rising above the street.
Cassius and Antonius had landed in a heap outside just as the dwelling collapsed. By the time they got to their feet, everything around them had been enveloped by dust; they could barely see three yards. Coughing hard, Cassius waved his arms in wide arcs to clear the air.
He could hear Crispus inside the other house, still yelling orders. More shouts, none of them in Latin, emanated from the second floor.
The dust began to settle; and Cassius saw that virtually the entire building had come down, with no more than five feet of wall remaining at any point. One legionary was already climbing up the pile of rubble. In amongst the tangle of timber and clay, the Roman was searching for Palmyrans still alive and finishing them off with his sword. Two others went to the aid of a pair of Syrians pinned by a large beam. Both were still breathing. One held up his hand, fingers outstretched towards Cassius.
Next to them, just visible beneath a pile of straw, was the top of a distinctive head. A shattering blow had punched a fist-sized hole in the side of Yarak’s skull.
A heavy hand landed on Cassius’ shoulder and he spun round. It was Antonius.
‘Centurion, we can hear them coming up the street!’
‘You three!’ Cassius shouted. ‘With me!’
The two legionaries had managed to pull the Syrian men clear. They joined the third, who had finished his murderous work, and duly followed.
To his surprise, Cassius found nine legionaries already gathered in the middle of the street. Only Crispus and another man were missing. All now looked towards the gate.
The Palmyrans had spread out across the full width of the street. Purple Cloak was in the centre, a pace ahead of the others. He marched on, cloak billowing behind him, sword still undrawn.
Some of the legionaries backed away.
‘The barricades?’ asked one.
For once, Cassius knew precisely what to do. Much of the rubble from the house had fallen into the street, narrowing its width to four or five yards.
‘Men with shields — form a wall!’
The men were all set to sprint back to the barricades. They looked at him doubtfully.
‘Hurry there! All of you!’
He grabbed Antonius and placed him at the edge of the rubble. The legionary seemed so surprised that he barely resisted. Cassius took hold of another man but the soldier shrugged him off.
‘I know the drill, sir.’
‘Come on! You seven with shields — complete the line. Form the wall!’
The standard command was enough to galvanise the men into action. Without a second order they planted their feet and began interlocking their shields.
‘The rest of you with pila — over the shoulders of the front rank.’
The other men got into position and readied their spears.
Crispus lurched out of the southern dwelling. The slight legionary looked utterly exhausted. He could barely hold up his shield and the point of his sword was trailing in the dust, leaving a red line on the ground.
‘House cleared, sir,’ he said between breaths. When he caught sight of the forty Palmyrans he’d been so concerned about earlier, he gazed despairingly up at the sky.
Next to emerge from the now silent house were Kabir and Idan. If anything, they were in worse condition. Kabir had lost his jerkin and his throat was covered in purple welts. Idan’s hands and arms were covered in blood and there was a nasty rent in his earlobe where a ring had been torn away.
Without looking at Cassius, Kabir led Idan to a position at the corner of the collapsed dwelling, guarding against an enemy advance across the rubble. The Syrian didn’t seem to notice his tribesmen lying just yards away. His eyes were blank and distant. He and Idan sheathed their swords and took their slings from their belts. Kabir had lost his bag of shot. Idan handed his leader a stone, then took one for himself.
Azaf had expected heavy losses amongst the first wave but he couldn’t understand how the Romans were still fighting. It incensed him to see they were still able to organise themselves and that yet more of his men had been sacrificed just to take this accursed fort and its precious well.
The standard was within reach now; he had no intention of letting it slip from his grasp again.
At last he drew his sword. Raising the blade high, he charged straight for the middle of the shield wall.
Cassius was vaguely aware of hearing something behind him but he didn’t turn round. Instead, he watched as the Palmyrans struck.
Each defender skidded back a yard or more but the wall held. The front rank made no attempt to strike back at the enemy warriors, so intent were they on keeping their shields together. The second rank moved up, jabbing into the enemy wherever they could.
Feeling something tug on his mail shirt, Cassius turned to find Julius at his side. Cassius pushed him away but the boy persisted, dodging his arm and dropping a bundle of javelins at his feet. Julius pointed towards the Palmyrans.
Cassius switched his sword to his left hand and slid one of the javelins out.
Just as he lifted it, Simo appeared. He was unarmed and unprotected, his tunic covered in blood.
‘You will fight?’
Wiping his sweat-sodden hair from his forehead, the big Gaul bent down and picked up a stray Palmyran sword. He mouthed prayers to himself.
Cassius nodded back with a grim smile.
Julius, however, was another matter.
‘Back inside,’ Cassius said, pointing the way. ‘They may spare you. This is not your fight.’
Thankfully the lad did as he was told, following the two injured Syrians as they too sought refuge in the barracks.
Backing away until he was ten yards from the shield wall, Cassius flung the javelin low over the heads of the legionaries into the Palmyrans.
Like all those in the front rank, Azaf was in danger of being crushed by his own men. He waved them forward nonetheless, sure that their weight would soon force the Romans back.
He heard the whir of a sling close by, then the impact and a howl of pain.
Raising his arms above the crush, Azaf held his sword with the blade facing down and slid it across the closest shield, aiming to find purchase between two edges. At the first attempt, the tip of the blade simply bounced off but with the second he managed to force it inside. Driving the blade further, he levered the hilt, prying the two shields apart.
As Simo handed him another javelin, Cassius watched Kabir and Idan. Relentless and implacable, the Syrians stood side by side, plucking stone after stone from Idan’s bag, whipping shot into the enemy flank.
Cassius took careful aim and threw the second javelin. This one landed close to the rear of the Palmyrans. He didn’t see it hit but heard a scream. Gesturing for Simo to stay back, he took up another javelin.