Macro was in the second rank of the century leading the assault and for a moment his instincts told him to thrust his way through to the front and lead his men into the fight. Then cold reason asserted itself. He was in command of over a thousand men. Their survival depended on him and it would be worse than reckless to throw away his life in this skirmish: it would be criminally self-indulgent. He took a deep breath, sheathed his sword and withdrew a short distance from the fighting. He looked round and up and saw that the flanking centuries had found their way on to the walls either side of the gate and were clearing the ramparts of rebels while the rest of the column made ready to pass through below them. He sensed a shadow suddenly looming at his shoulder and swung round to see Balthus swinging himself down from the saddle of his horse.
'Truly, the men of the legions fight like lions.'
The remark was sincere and Macro felt proud, and human enough to admit to a passing moment of smugness after the humiliation of being rescued by the prince and his retinue. Then the feeling fell away and he glanced up the street, over the heads of the fighting men, in the direction of the citadel.
'The action's barely begun, sir. We've a way to go yet.'
Balthus' smile faded. 'Yes. As soon as you have cleared the rebels from around the gate, I will lead the way.'
'Very well. Now, if you'll excuse me.' Macro turned and strode towards the fighting. He could see that his men had the upper hand. It was no surprise. The rebels were brave enough, but their weapons and armour were light and unequal to the task. The legionaries presented a wall of broad shields to the defenders, occasionally punching them forward when an enemy came too close. In between the shields the blades of short swords flickered in and out like silver tongues, stabbing and cutting at the press of rebel bodies, forcing them up the street. Men began to fall back, then turn and run, ducking into the side streets to escape the Roman onslaught. Macro nodded with satisfaction as the legionaries cut down the last of the rebels still brave or foolish enough to fight on, and then the street was in their hands.
'First century! Re-form ranks!' Centurion Horatius bellowed, and the remaining men formed a column four abreast, facing up the street.
As the next century entered the gate, Macro ordered their commander to form up behind Horatius' men, then turned back to Prince Balthus.
'Sir, I'll need your men in small parties in between each of my centuries.'
'Why?'
Macro indicated the buildings crowding the street on either side. 'I've seen street fighting before. As we go deeper into the city, the rebels are going to regroup and attack us again. From the alleys, and up there on the roofs.Your men are fine shots. They proved that the other day.' He flashed a smile. 'They're the best chance we have of picking off the attackers, and discouraging them from getting too close.'
Balthus nodded. 'I understand. I will give the order.'
'They will need to dismount, and hand their horses over to my cavalry.'
Balthus' dark eyes flashed suspiciously in the torchlit street. 'My followers do not part with their horses lightly, Centurion.'
'I know that well enough, sir. But I give my word, they will be protected by my men.'
'Your word. Very well, I will order it.' Balthus turned away and strode out of the gate. Macro climbed the stairs inside the gate tower and called out to the commanders of the flank centuries to join him. As they picked their way along the battlements Macro glanced over the bodies sprawled around him and could easily imagine the bloody scramble for possession of the gatehouse and the nearest stretches of the city's wall. Once the two centurions were with him Macro gave them their orders.
'You're to guard our flanks until the last of the auxiliaries are inside the city. Then you become the rear guard. Keep your men formed up and stay on the street.You will not stop to engage any rebels.You will ignore any attacks from alleys and side streets. If the column is forced to stop then the initiative goes to the other side. If that happens, we're as good as dead. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir,' the centurions chorused.
'Good. And by the way.' Macro gestured to the evidence of the bloody struggle around them. 'Good job.'
'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
By the time Macro returned to the street, the first of Balthus' men had positioned themselves at the rear of the first century, bows at the ready. Balthus had joined them, armed with his own bow, gaudily decorated, but quite deadly, Macro realised. He strode over to join the prince.
'All set?'
'Yes, Centurion. We head up that street, as far as the market, then left through the arch on to the way that leads to the citadel.'
'Very well.' Macro cupped his hand to his mouth. 'Column!… Advance!'
Even in the brief time it had taken to re-form the column the rebels had appeared at the far end of the street, and as the Roman vanguard tramped forward the first arrows cracked into the shields of the front rank. Balthus' men shot back at once and the rebels scurried for cover as the missiles arced towards them.
'Now we're in for trouble,' Macro growled.
Balthus looked at him. 'Why?'
'You'll see.' Macro's gaze flickered over the buildings lining the street ahead of them. Then he saw a faint blur of movement from one of the roofs and he stabbed a finger towards the spot. 'Up there!'
As the column approached the place where the arrows shot by Balthus' men lay on the paved surface of the street, a lump of masonry was hurled down from an overlooking building. Macro shouted a warning, too late to prevent its smashing down on to the shoulder of the first century's standard-bearer. The blow drove the man down on to his knees. He groaned and tried to keep the heavy shaft held up with his other hand, but the standard tottered a moment and began to fall to the side. Macro leaped towards the man and snatched the standard from his grasp before it hit the ground. He turned and gestured towards two of the men following him.
'You, take over the standard. And you help the bearer to the rear.'
The man chosen to take the standard was a wiry youth, whose expression openly betrayed his pride at being entrusted with the task.
'You know the score,' Macro said tersely. 'Keep it up where the men can see it, and defend it with your life.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then carry on.' Macro nodded towards the first century marching steadily up the street. 'Don't fall behind.'
As the legionary scurried forward someone shouted a warning as more masonry was thrown down from the roofs on either side.
'Shields!' Macro shouted. 'Raise shields overhead!'
His men lifted their shields and formed a loosely interlocking protective screen over their heads. Balthus' men had no such protection, but in any case they were busy taking shots at any figures that became visible on the roofs. The first of them suddenly cried out and crumpled to the ground close by Macro, felled by a sling shot. There was no time to check if his wound was fatal as the column moved on. Ahead Macro could just make out the place where the street opened out on to the market. A file of rebel soldiers trotted into view and quickly formed up, locking their shields and presenting their sturdy spears to the Romans as they paced towards the end of the street and filled the gap. Macro drew Balthus' attention to the men ahead and the prince rattled out a quick series of orders. His archers instantly turned their attention towards the men blocking the route and began to loose arrows in their direction. But these rebels were part of Palmyra's small but effective army; a contingent that had betrayed their king. Like the Romans they raised their shields and the arrows clanged off the bronzed surfaces.
'Spearmen to your front!' Macro warned.
The spearmen were packed tightly into the width of the street and came on steadily, at a pace called out by their officer.The legionaries advanced on them without faltering, shields held out and swords raised to the horizontal, ready to thrust. One of the men began to beat the side of his blade against the shield trim and within moments the rest of the leading century followed suit and the rhythmic metallic clank echoed off the walls on either side. As the Roman column advanced Macro glanced warily down each alley they passed, and saw occasional fleeting movements in the dark shadows. Every so often an arrow or a stone would fly out and clatter off a shield or the armour of one of Macro's men.They were more of a nuisance than a danger and it was only the handful of the enemy who had reached the roofs of the houses lining the street who presented a real threat as they continued to hurl missiles down on the column tramping up the street.