Azaf had long believed that months of uninterrupted success had bred overconfidence within the Palmyran ranks. Despite this awareness, it seemed he too had fallen prey to it, and now he had a costly mess on his hands. General Zabbai would not be interested in excuses. Even so, he might overlook the mistake if Alauran could still be taken swiftly. Azaf had at least lost only a handful of his own men and the day was still young.
Not far away, one of the cavalrymen sat on the ground, his horse circling him, head bowed. Its coat of armour had been pulled clean off and strips of skin torn from its flanks. The rider had removed his helmet and armour and was cradling one arm in his lap. Azaf walked over and saw that the arm had been crushed below the elbow: a pulpy mass of flesh over broken bones.
‘
Strategos
,’ he said, still gulping for air.
‘What happened?’
‘The horses at the front, they became crazed. It spread. Then they bolted for the gate. I got out, but the others—’
Azaf looked over at the gatehouse. Two of the vertical timbers had been damaged and half of the southern tower had collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble that made escape even harder. Razir and several others were now desperately trying to free the trapped animals and release those behind.
Azaf knew he couldn’t do anything until they had cleared the gate. He ran over to take charge.
Cassius went to check the southern barricade and found Kabir hunched over, watching the killing area through a jagged hole. Every one of his warriors was occupied. Several were carrying injured men to the dwellings, others were helping the legionaries with running repairs or collecting up weapons and equipment.
‘I can’t fault their courage,’ said the Syrian, glancing up at Cassius. ‘Though I fear they might regret leaving the defences.’
Cassius got down beside him and looked out. Despite the flurry of horses still charging this way and that, he could see the small group of legionaries. Bunched together as Avso had ordered, they ignored the main mass of cavalry still trying to make their escape and picked out isolated Palmyrans already on the ground.
The group split in two as they rounded a lifeless fallen horse and closed in on their first victim: the man with the caltrop in his hand. He saw the legionaries coming for him and was just scrabbling to his feet when Iucundus swung the stave down on top of his helmet, knocking the Palmyran out.
The Roman raiding party had attracted the attention of two cavalrymen close to the northern barricade. The riders had managed to stay clear of the melee and in control of their mounts. Incensed by the defenders’ audacity and the failure of their assault, they exchanged a few words, then charged.
‘Look out!’ yelled Vestinus.
The Romans spun round as the Palmyrans bore down on them, lances tilted at the legionaries’ heads. Without their shields, Strabo, Avso and the others were dependent on their agility to avoid the onrushing cavalry. The group scattered.
Vestinus found his way blocked by the fallen horse. As he tried to scramble over it, one of the Palmyrans caught him with a full-blooded thrust of his lance. The blow propelled the legionary ten feet back into the dust, a fist-sized gouge in his thigh.
The others were luckier. They all got clear of the second Palmyran in good time and Strabo and Iucundus were able to make a grab at the horseman as he passed. The Sicilian couldn’t quite get a grip on the saddle but Iucundus made a successful lunge for the Palmyran’s belt. He hung on grimly with both hands and was hauled off his feet. Then the additional weight told and the two of them tumbled to the ground in a heap as the horse bucked away. Somehow avoiding serious injury, they instantly dragged themselves up, each ready to attack the other.
Strabo was at his friend’s side in a moment, first smashing the stave down on to the Palmyran’s wrist as he reached for his sword, then sideways into his head. It was enough to account for the cavalryman, who slumped to the ground unconscious, his legs bent under him.
‘Quickly! Before he returns!’ shouted Avso.
He and two other legionaries sprinted after the first rider, who was trying to turn his horse. The Romans were on him before he could get the animal moving. Avso grabbed the lance just below the point and wrenched it down, pulling the Palmyran halfway out of his saddle. The horse veered away from the other legionaries, tipping its rider on to the ground. He landed heavily on his side, with no chance of defending himself. Avso swung twice at his head, denting the helmet over each ear, then looked down with satisfaction at his fallen foe.
The Palmyrans had finally freed the trapped horses. Under Azaf’s orders, they had cut away at the damaged side of the tower with their swords to create space. They had then dragged the animals out by anything they could lay their hands on – reins, armour, even hair. The stricken beasts managed only a few shaky steps before collapsing.
Bezda had his horse back under control and was now occupied with keeping it on its feet. All around him were injured animals and riders. By staying close to the southern barricade, he had at least kept clear of the caltrops.
He was, however, exhausted. It was a struggle even to lift his arms and manipulate the reins. The movements of his horse were similarly sluggish. He had already resolved to kill the accursed Roman beast, assuming he ever got the opportunity. It seemed an age since he had seen anything through the eyeholes of his mask other than clay walls, wooden barricades and the chain mail of the other riders.
Suddenly the horse in front of him lurched forward. He looked towards the gate and saw that the mass of animals and men was at last breaking up. Most had dropped their lances and many were hunched over their horses’ necks, desperately urging them on before they or the animals fainted. Bezda already knew that the best he could now hope for was to escape with the majority of his men and their mounts still alive.
Behind the surging mass, to his left, he saw the cost of his failure to exploit the breach and press home the attack. He had already counted five fallen men and as many animals when he spied the group of Romans.
The eight legionaries had knocked out or killed every unmounted Palmyran they could see, as well as putting several horses out of their misery. Vestinus and another injured man had withdrawn to the barricades and Avso had ordered two more to drag the unconscious Palmyrans back through the gap in the carts. Now he, Strabo, Iucundus and Statius stood in the centre of the killing area.
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—’