"The Demetrios!"
At once men up and down the wall began to shout: "Temple robber! Dung eater! Filthy sodomite!" A catapult discharged with a crash; then another. A few archers loosed shafts at an angle halfway to the vertical, in hopes of bringing down the king by a lucky long-range shot.
Most of these missiles fell short, and the archers' officers shouted to hold their shooting. One of Bias' long-range dart throwers, however, sent a dart close over Demetrios' head, so that the king flinched at the screech. He did not check his course but spurred toward the walls, passing between his archers and guiding his horse to right and left in a zigzag to throw off his enemies' aim.
Now I could make out the too-handsome features under the gleaming steel helmet. His cuirass, too, was of steel, polished until it shone like silver. Ignoring the missiles that whizzed about him, he drew rein well within catapult range and waved at us—rudely, with his palm turned towards us. The rising sun flashed on the splendid teeth which he bared in an insolent grin. Then he touched spur and headed back out of range at a leisurely canter, weaving among his advancing companies. His soldiers cheered as he passed.
Now the men who carried the mantlets came within missile range. As arrows and bullets began to fall among them, they broke into a rim, carrying their defenses up to within a hundred paces of the wall before setting them down and running back. Other men set more mantlets in slanting lines extending back to the limits of missile range, to provide covered ways by which the archers could reach their shelters.
The archers rushed forward, jostling and shouting, to pick the best-placed mantlets for themselves, like a disorderly crowd scrambling for seats in a theater. Soon there was not an archer to be seen, save where a steel cap and a pair of eyes appeared in the arrow slit of a mantlet as the archer drew bow. Arrows whistled past us and skipped from the masonry; one stuck quivering in the timbers of Skylla.
"When shoot we, O Chares?" queried Onas.
"Not until the big engines are in range. We won't waste three-talent balls on single foes."
A trumpet blew; commands resounded. A company of foot charged clattering across the plain, shouting: "Eleleu! Eleleleu!"
Catapults on the wall were trained with rope and crowbar to bear upon this company. The catapults crashed and their darts streaked.
Our own trumpets blared: Rhodian footmen hurried past along the wall; I glimpsed Kavaros. An officer shouted:
"Do not let them frighten you! Remember, a man on top of a wall is worth ten at the bottom!"
"Cock your piece," I told Onas. "Make the men who aren't cocking keep down." Then I went over to Charybdis and repeated my commands to Mys.
Other Antigonian companies advanced. Soon the dreaded cry rang up and down the walclass="underline" "Ladders! Ladders!"
Wherever a ladder appeared, Rhodians rushed up with forked poles to push it over, while missile troops showered those below with arrows, bolts, javelins, and basketfuls of stone. The Cretan archers were especially active, screeching in their unintelligible Greek and racing back and forth like boys in a hockey game. Such was the din that I had to put my mouth to a man's ear and shout to make myself heard.
The groaning, creaking mobile engines now passed through the lines of mantlets. I could see the bottoms of the huge iron-tired wheels, with rims two cubits wide, on which the belfry advanced. Seeing that Charybdis bore upon it, I passed the word to Mys to shoot.
Charybdis discharged with a thunderous crash. The three-talent ball struck the belfry with a thump that shook the whole structure and caused dust to fly from its joints. But the thick leather cushions, with which the front of the belfry was hung, absorbed the blow. Other catapults hurled smaller stones against it until the sound of their impact was like the roll of a gigantic drum, irregularly beaten by ,a mad Titan.
The tortoises moved up to the edge of the ditch. Men set up mantlets from the rear of these tortoises in rows to provide covered ways. Then, despite the hail of missiles around the open front ends of the tortoises, men began popping out to cast bundles of faggots and brushwood into the ditch before ducking back out of sight.
The belfry groaned to a stop. The cushions hanging down in front all swung up as those inside reeled in the cords. It was as if Argos son of Agenor opened all his hundred eyes at once.
The vast frame quivered as the twenty-odd catapults within discharged at once, with a mighty roll of crashes; the recoil made the belfry roll back a few digits. I risked having my head taken off to watch the flying missiles.
Each story had three or four ports. On the lowest story Epimachos had placed two three-talent stone throwers, like those we had captured. Between them, in the center, was a single smaller stone thrower, casting one-talent balls. The second story bore three one-talent stone throwers. The middle stories carried smaller stone throwers, while dart throwers shot through the ports of the upper stories.
Our wall quivered under the impact of this mass of missiles. Clouds of dust arose and chips of stone flew. Down went the cushions in front of the ports. Soon the small ports of the dart throwers opened again, but it took much longer to recock and reload the heavy machines.
Onas bellowed at his crew, which was levering Skylla around to bear upon the belfry. This, however, was a dis-hearteningly slow process, and the Egyptian cursed the day he let himself be placed in command of so immobile an engine.
The battle raged on. Little by little, Demetrios' companies of foot gave up their attacks on the wall. Their officers knew that such assaults are fruitless unless the defenders be cowed by lack of spirited leadership or laid low by plague or starvation. Short of food though we were, nonetheless the soldiers had first call on our dwindling stores and so had energy yet.to spare. The Antigonian infantry fell back, leaving scores of soldiers writhing or lying still, with blood running out from under their armor.
I looked at the sun and thought: Herakles! Since when has the sun risen in the west? Then it struck me that the sun was not rising but setting. The entire day had slipped away in missile fighting. Of the sails mounted atop the wall to check missiles, some had been overthrown, while others were tattered rags. But no Antigonians had pierced our defenses, from the land or from the sea.
During the night, despite harassing archery, Demetrios' men filled up the ditch in two places. The next day, as the missile fight resumed, the ram tortoises moved up to the wall at these points. By noon they were in position. A thousand men heaved on each ram inside its shed. The great iron head drew back ...
Boom! The wall shook like a man with the ague.
Boom! went the other ram.
My memory of that day is confused. I dashed about, slipping in pools of blood. I inspected my two stone throwers, helped to carry a wounded artilleryman to safety, and harassed the manager of the brick kiln to get my catapult balls baked sooner. I also did what I could to help in the defense against the rams.
Against these engines we first lowered straw-stuffed mattresses by ropes to cushion their blows; Demetrios' engineers burnt the mattresses. Then we lowered an iron hook on the end of a chain, to try to catch the beam of the ram and haul it up; the Antigonians fended the chain aside with a pole. We tried the same trick with a length of ship's cable, lowered by two men at once to catch the head of the ram in the bight; the Antigonians cut the cable.
We dropped heavy stones on the ram tortoises: the stones bounced off their strong sloping roofs. We dropped incendiary jars and javelins on them; the green hides with which they were covered shed the fire like water, though a horrid stench arose. When we did get a small fire started, the Antigonian engineers, despite the loss of several men, put it out by slapping it with a rolled-up hide.