‘I like your ram, Marcus,’ I said, stroking the massive iron head.
‘Yes, sir, it cost Crassus a great deal of money.’
I smiled. ‘I have no doubt. He is a man who likes quality in all things.’
A mischievous grin spread across Domitus’ face. ‘Tell him what your men have nicknamed it, Marcus.’
Marcus cleared his throat and looked sheepish. ‘I don’t think the king would be interested in such trivial gossip.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied Domitus.
‘Yes,’ I added, ‘please tell, Marcus.’ I looked at the snarling image; they probably called it Crassus. I smiled to myself.
‘Pacorus, sir, begging your pardon.’
‘What?’ I said.
Marcus avoided my eyes. ‘They nicknamed it Pacorus.’
Domitus and Nergal thought it hilarious.
‘It looks like you,’ said Domitus.
‘The mirror image,’ added Nergal, creasing up with laughter.
Marcus was blushing while my two senior commanders were giggling like young girls. I decided to maintain my dignity. I laid a hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
‘It is quite all right. When these two have finished with their childishness we will put my namesake to work.’
The smaller ballista had also been loaded on to carts and driven to the royal gardens where they were re-assembled by their crews. Once in position they began sweeping the walls with bolts and iron balls, just as they had done before the city gates. After a few enemy heads had been caved in, the palace walls were soon empty of archers, allowing the ram to be pushed forward. I insisted on being a member of the party that grabbed the beams inside the ram’s protective cover and hauled it forward. Domitus and a century of his men followed immediately behind the ram, the legionaries’ shields held above them and on their sides as a defence against enemy missiles.
There were twenty of us pushing the ram, including Marcus, and even with all our efforts it was slow to move so heavy a beast. I began sweating heavily as I pushed on one of the beams, the iron-headed ram swaying slightly with every forward effort. Iron plates mounted at the front of the ram provided additional protection for those manning it, but also added more weight to the machine. Marcus coordinated our efforts, telling us when to push forward, but it was painfully slow progress. I heard the crack of the ballista balls and bolts hitting the walls, though the sounds gradually died away, presumably because there were no targets to aim at. Occasionally there was a dull thud on the ram’s roof as an enemy archer diced with death and shot at us, followed by more cracks as ballista missiles flew at him and struck the walls.
Domitus was directly behind the ram and delighted in making fun of our efforts.
‘Come on, push it. We want to get into the palace before dark. Perhaps I should knock on the gates and ask to be let in.’
We had no energy to reply, all our strength being used to push the ram forward. My heart was pounding in my chest and sweat ran into my eyes as I heaved it forward. The others, veins bulging in their muscled arms, groaned as they threw their weight behind each effort, with the voice of Marcus constantly in our ears.
‘Heave; heave; heave.’
Then, finally, we were at the gates. We shoved the ram’s roof right up against the gates just in case the enemy above decided to throw rocks or burning oil down upon us. Each man grabbed one of the rope handles that had been nailed to the trunk and pulled it backwards, then on Marcus’ command we hurled it forward. The great iron head smashed into the gates, splintering the wood. Again we pulled it back and then sent it hurtling into the gates once more. More cracking and splintering as the ram’s head fractured the gates and wrenched them from their hinges, forcing them back. Again and again we propelled the iron head into the wood until one of the gates lay twisted on the ground and the other had been smashed in two.
‘Grab the ram, pull it back,’ shouted Domitus to the men behind him as he picked up one of the ropes fastened to the rear of the ram for just such a purpose. Then we were pushing the ram back so it no longer blocked the broken gates. Domitus drew his sword and ran past the battering ram and through broken gates into the palace grounds, his men following. They barely had time to form a wall of shields before being attacked by Chosroes’ palace guards.
These men were well armed and no doubt knew their craft. They wore bronze helmets, red tunics covered with bronze scales and carried large round shields that had bronze facings sporting a black viper motif. They were armed with spears that had leaf-shaped blades, which they used to thrust at the legionaries, keeping the shields tucked tightly into their left sides. They advanced in a compact line with several ranks behind, not charging wildly but moving as a disciplined body. Their front rank tried to thrust their spears into the bellies of my men, jabbing the points forward. Our line of shields held in the press but my men could not make any headway against them. Worse, they were actually being forced back towards the gates and the walls. Domitus and his legionaries tried to thrust their swords over the top rim of their shields, into the faces and necks of their opponents, but the enemy’s spears kept them out of reach. More legionaries were flooding into the palace, but this only resulted in a great crush of men in and around the gates as the palace guards began herding the legionaries back. I was going to order a retreat when I saw archers on the walls. For a moment a feeling of nausea swept through me, believing them to be Chosroes’ men. But then I realised that they were Nergal’s archers. He had ordered his men to ride up to the walls, stand on their saddles and then haul themselves up onto the walls. The latter were no more than twice the height of a man so it was easy enough. Those who reached the top of the walls first then hoisted up the others, until there were dozens of archers either side of the gates. They then began pouring a withering fire into the enemy ranks, their arrows striking faces and necks.
The advance of the palace guards faltered and then stopped as they were hit by the arrow storm, men instinctively raising their shields to deflect the missiles being shot at them from the walls. But in doing so they lost the initiative, and a blast of trumpets preceded a charge by the Durans. The front ranks rushed forward into the now stationary palace guards and hacked their first line to pieces. Nergal’s archers were shooting arrows like men possessed until their quivers were empty, but their efforts were enough to tip the scales of the bloody melee below. Disorganised, their rear ranks thinned by arrows and their first two lines now destroyed, the guards began to fall back while the legionaries cried ‘Dura, Dura’ as they cut their way into the enemy. Back the guards went, towards the palace where archers were filing out from the building to form a phalanx at the top of the stone steps.
The legionaries pressed on, stabbing at their opponents, but then a volley of arrows brought their advance to a halt as the front ranks closed their shields together and those behind hoisted their shields above the heads of those in front to form a testudo. The arrows slammed harmlessly into leather and wood as the command was given to retreat and trumpet calls rang out across the palace square. The royal guards also fell back and regrouped at the foot of the stone steps, covered by the archers behind them. These men were good soldiers, that much was true, but they faced certain death if they continued fighting.
A temporary lull descended over the battle as the legionaries held their shields in place and the Mesenians took no further action. Of Chosroes there was no sign.
Domitus came trotting back to where I was standing just inside the broken palace gates, and where Nergal joined us a few moments later. Domitus embraced him.
‘I knew your horse boys would come in handy one day,’ he grinned.
‘I never thought they would fight as well as they did,’ remarked Nergal, looking at the royal guards. ‘What now?’