‘Then we should perhaps observe from above.’
‘Agreed.’
Cassius kept watch as the others clambered up the ladder in turn. A group of about twenty archers had broken ranks with the swordsmen and now continued south, walking parallel to the rally line.
Last up to the walkway, Cassius positioned himself between Kabir and Serenus. A second mixed group of infantry and archers was moving north. Each detachment was being trailed by a single cart. The southerly group had now turned ninety degrees, maintaining the two-hundred-yard gap as they neared the mounted sentry opposite the south wall.
‘Encirclement,’ said Serenus quietly. ‘They mean to attack the north and south walls too. Probably ladders in those carts.’
‘So much for the killing area,’ added Strabo.
‘I’ll fetch Minicius,’ said Serenus. He let Avso up before climbing down the ladder.
‘Syrian,’ said Strabo, ‘you should put some of your men at the walls now. If one side falls we’ve had it.’
‘Not yet,’ said Avso as he sat down. ‘We should still concentrate our main force at the gate. They are.’
‘And leave thirty men holed up in houses for no good reason?’ countered Strabo.
The three Romans were huddled together, heads below the wall. Only Kabir was still looking out at the Palmyrans.
‘We discussed this,’ Cassius said firmly. ‘The Syrians will be best used behind us, against the enemy in the killing area. If the walls are threatened—’
Strabo cut him off. ‘What do you mean “if”? They—’
Before he could continue, Kabir interrupted.
‘You may want to see this.’
Azaf was now the only swordsman still on his horse. Just ahead of him was the ram and the ten armoured men stationed by its wheels. Gathered behind him were the ranks of infantry, blades drawn and shields up, ready to move. Azaf had insisted that Razir repeat the orders to his lieutenants now at the northern and southern flanks. What he had planned was unconventional and not without risk. It would require considerable patience and discipline.
‘Give the order.’
‘Yes,
strategos
.’
Razir unleashed a deep, penetrating cry.
‘Forward!’
The Palmyran forces on three sides of Alauran – swordsmen, cavalry and archers alike – advanced as one.
Realising his helmet was loose, Cassius reached for the chinstrap. The floor below him was pocked with marks created by boots, spear ends and sword points, revealing the pale grey clay under the white paint. He stared at it, eyes glazing over. Now it was the turn of the Palmyran infantry to beat their sword handles against their shields; a rhythmic, insistent clamour that dulled the senses. It took Cassius a while to realise he couldn’t adjust the strap because his fingers were shaking so much. Clenching them tightly, he saw that the others were ready to leave.
‘At least the waiting’s over,’ said Strabo, shouting over the noise of the enemy.
‘Good,’ added Avso.
‘We should be with our sections,’ continued the Sicilian.
‘Where’s Minicius?’ Cassius asked.
‘Here, sir,’ said a shaky voice.
Minicius was already up on the walkway and sheltering behind Avso, the tuba between his feet.
Kabir crawled away and was followed swiftly down into the tower by Avso.
Cassius felt a sudden surge of panic. Things were happening quickly now. Too quickly.
‘Come on,’ Strabo said, his tone almost paternal as he gestured for Cassius to follow him.
A shout from Minicius halted them.
‘Sir!’
‘What is it?’
‘They’ve stopped.’
Whatever Minicius was talking about, Cassius knew it wasn’t the clattering of the shields: the rumbling cacophony suggested the Palmyrans were just yards from the gate.
‘So they have,’ said Strabo.
‘How far out?’ asked Cassius.
‘Eighty feet. Bows still down. Even the rammers have stopped.’
Strabo then checked the flanks.
‘The others too. Strange.’
It soon became clear that this was more than a momentary interruption to the assault. The noise continued – archers and cavalry adding to the clamour – but still the advance did not come. With Strabo keeping watch, Cassius and Minicius crouched down, eyes locked on the Sicilian, awaiting any clue as to what might happen next.
‘What game is this, Purple Cloak?’ said Strabo.
Abruptly the noise stopped and the end of a shouted order was audible.
Strabo checked the flanks once more.
‘Just standing there.’
‘What do you make of it?’ asked Cassius.
‘Perhaps they wish to confuse us. Wear us down.’
As they sat there, awaiting the single shout that might finally signal the start of the battle, Cassius realised how much the temperature had dropped. Twilight was near. He looked across at Strabo.
‘You seemed sure they wouldn’t attack at night.’
‘I was.’
Azaf sensed unease all round him. The men didn’t understand why they had been ordered so close to the walls only to stand to. Neither did they understand why he had delayed the attack throughout the afternoon and evening. Still, it was not their place to question his methods. Even Razir had not voiced his concern, simply passing on the orders without comment.
Bezda, however, was another matter. When the messenger finally arrived from the rear, Azaf was surprised it had taken so long. The nervous-looking cart driver was escorted forward by Razir. He at least had the sense to bow. Azaf told him to speak.
‘Sir, a message from Master Bezda. His horses and men are tiring. With respect, he asks when the attack will commence. Or whether it will commence at all.’
Azaf looked up at the darkening sky. Around him, men listened intently.
‘Tell him he will have a decision soon.’
‘Yes,
strategos
.’
The driver bowed again and began his trip back through the lines.
Razir paced in front of Azaf’s horse, twisting tufts of his beard between finger and thumb. After years spent living and fighting together, Azaf could tell when his most trusted warrior had something to say.
‘Spit it out then.’
Razir put a hand upon the horse’s neck, looked up at Azaf, and spoke to him in hushed tones.
‘The light fades, sir. If I knew what you had in mind—’
Azaf gave a thin smile.
‘Patience, Razir. Patience.’
As the red sun dropped below the horizon, the silhouettes of individual horsemen and soldiers merged, then were lost to the darkness. Blinking and rubbing their eyes, Strabo and Cassius peered out, trying to discern any suggestion of movement. Occasionally Strabo would turn north or south, concerned that the forces on either flank had already begun some covert advance. Cassius would turn too, convinced the Sicilian had seen something. After one such occasion, they turned back east just as the Palmyrans lit the first fire.
What began as an orange dot was soon a blaze several feet high, joined by another, then another. Sparks drifted into the sky. Sometimes a shape would pass close by, illuminated by the flames. The first three fires marked the rally line but before long more were alight to the north and south.
To Cassius, the message seemed obvious: the Palmyrans didn’t want the darkness to offer the Romans even the slightest relief. Alauran was still surrounded; the garrison was still trapped. The attack would still come.
XXVIII
There were only two fires burning inside the walls of Alauran when darkness fell. One had been started by the Syrians to light their torches, the other was at the officers’ quarters, where Simo had a large pot of water boiling to clean sheets for use as bandages.
The men of the first section waited patiently at the door while Serenus used a stick to light each torch in turn. The tops of the tightly bound bunches of palm branches were covered by oil-soaked goatskin. Serenus was dispatching the torch-bearers to each corner of the compound and the centre of each wall. All were issued with a spare for later on and he repeated the same orders to every legionary.
‘Don’t climb upon the wall. You are there to guard against incursions, not show the enemy where you are.’
With typical foresight, Simo had lit nine small oil lamps. Two of them were on stands inside the officers’ quarters, two in the aid post. Four more had been swiftly claimed by passing legionaries. The last one he had kept in reserve.
‘For you, sir.’
‘Well done,’ said Cassius, taking the lamp as he passed the aid post and slowing down to avoid spilling the oil. Minicius was with him, tuba in hand. Cassius had just sent the men of the third, fourth and fifth sections to the remaining three sides of the compound, with orders to space themselves out evenly, listen for any signs of movement and report any sign of attack. Strabo and his section were manning the gatehouse.
He found Serenus inside, returning the lighting stick to the fire.
‘Any change?’ asked the veteran.
‘Some movement. Nothing definite.’
‘It is odd. But if they do plan to attack under cover of night, I see no reason for them to delay. We should check the perimeter at once. Shall we start with the rear wall?’
The first legionary they came across was Vestinus, who had just arrived at the north-west corner. He was facing the wall with the torch held well away from him, listening carefully. Above them, the branches of the closest palm rustled in the dark.
‘Anything?’ asked Serenus.
‘Not so far.’
‘Let me borrow that.’
Serenus took the torch and held it high as he walked along the rear wall, examining the edge. He turned round after a few yards and returned it to Vestinus.
‘Check now and again as I did. If you see or hear anything, cry out at once.’
They continued along the western wall, passing Crispus and the third section. Serenus kept up a quick pace and stopped regularly to check the view from the firing steps. There were still no fires visible to the west but they had agreed that the rear wall must remain as well guarded as the others.
The camels snorted and shifted in their stables as the trio started along the southern wall. Then the horses began to whinny and pace.
‘They share our disquiet,’ said Cassius.
‘Perhaps,’ answered Serenus. ‘Legionary, if I hear that tuba scrape on the ground one more time, I’m going to make you carry it above your head one-handed.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Minicius.
Halfway along the southern wall they encountered another torch-bearer.
‘Anything?’
Before the sentry could answer, a cry went up.
‘Over here!’
‘The north wall!’ yelled Serenus.
They ran round the front of the granary and across the square. Wishing he could get rid of the lamp, Cassius heard the pounding of feet to his right. Half a dozen Syrians appeared, torches held high, wavering light glinting off their blades.
‘Look out!’ someone shouted. One of the Syrians pointed into the air.
Three flaming arrows had just reached the apex of their flight and were dropping towards them.
Luckily, they had been fired so high that the defenders had time to get out of the way. Two landed harmlessly in the dust, another embedded itself in the wall of the closest house. One of Kabir’s men plucked it out of the clay then snuffed out the flame with his boot.
Cassius caught up with Serenus just as he climbed up on to the nearest firing step. Wheezing, the veteran raised his head above the northern wall.
Three more legionaries arrived.
‘Started just now, sir,’ said one.
More orange flashes streamed into the sky. Serenus half fell off the step, landing heavily next to Cassius.
‘Many torches. Moving,’ he announced as Cassius helped him to his feet. ‘They may be closing in.’
At least ten flaming arrows had landed inside the compound. The legionaries set about extinguishing all those they could reach. Several had hit the barracks. Serenus requisitioned a torch from one legionary and sent him there at once.
‘Quickly! There are barrels there if you need them.’
Kabir could also be heard shouting orders as his men rushed inside the dwellings. Though grateful for his help, Cassius was confident fire would not quickly take hold there; the rooms had been emptied and the parched clay brick would not burn easily on its own.
Once more holding the torch high, Serenus led Cassius and Minicius east along the northern wall. They walked slowly, listening carefully for any suggestion of advance. Shapes appeared, moved and disappeared to their right as the Syrians made their way through the houses.
Serenus paused as they neared what had once been the marketplace. Cassius spied the torch-bearer at the corner and saw a faint glow within the doorway of the northern tower. He wondered what Strabo had seen of the attack.
Serenus turned and retraced his steps. As he swapped the torch from one hand to the other, a burning twig landed on Cassius’ arm. Shaking it off, he managed to flick oil out of the lamp on to his wrist, barely stifling a yelp.
The veteran hurried on. They drew level with the barracks. A legionary leaned out of a window and dropped two blackened arrows into the dust. Cassius bent down and examined one. There was no metal or stone at the point. The wooden shaft had been sharpened and the top half wrapped tight with cloth soaked with something flammable.
He caught up with Serenus again. Even in the dim glow of the torch, he could see the variation in colour and texture over the area of wall repaired by Strabo’s section. Serenus stopped. Cassius shut his eyes, trying to pick up any noise from beyond the wall. Only when he heard a pained cough from Serenus and opened his eyes did he realise why the veteran had halted. The light from the lamp illuminated Serenus’ mail shirt, now stained with saliva and blood. He tried to speak but produced only a rasping sound.