Spinning back round, Cassius looked right and saw that yet more Palmyrans were inside the compound, advancing along the side of the granary.
‘Now! Retreat!’
The legionaries turned and ran.
Crispus’ group were already well past the inn, making for the carts as the Palmyrans gave chase.
One of Cassius’ men stumbled and would have fallen had Cassius not grabbed him under the arm and helped him regain his balance. The moment’s delay left them yards behind the others. As they raced away, Cassius could hear the pounding footfalls of the enemy behind him; the Palmyrans had taken the bait.
There was no sign of Kabir or any of the Syrians. Cassius resisted the temptation to glance at the dwellings.
The two groups became one as the Romans ran hard for the barricades, legs and arms pumping. Tiles cracked under the boots of the charging legionaries. Cassius kept his eyes down, determined not to lose his footing.
Crispus was first behind the carts. He darted neatly through the gap, then the men funnelled in behind him.
Cassius had almost reached the well when he heard the welcome whir of the Syrian slings. He was the last man inside, and he hurried forward while the other legionaries picked up their pila and shields.
Percussive thuds echoed across the square as the lethal projectiles found their targets. The closest Palmyrans fell ten yards short of the carts, all struck in the head or neck. Cassius couldn’t believe they weren’t wearing helmets or armour. The legionaries whooped and cheered as red-clad swordsmen tumbled to the ground across the width of the square.
It didn’t take long for the Palmyrans to realise where the shots were coming from. Kabir’s men were lined up above each roof surround, all either firing or reloading. More could be seen below, half concealed by the shadowy windows as they continued to unleash shot at a prodigious rate.
Their onslaught had halted all those chasing the Romans and soon every Palmyran in the square still standing was running back towards the two dwellings. Leaving at least twenty fallen warriors behind, they flooded towards the doorways or windows, desperate to get out of the firing line and stop the deadly barrage. Both ground floors were overrun in moments. The few Palmyrans left outside pressed close to the walls or raised their shields to protect themselves from the slingers above.
Shouts drifted across the square towards the Romans. They looked on as the Syrians bent over the roof surrounds, looking for new targets. Others had already gone down the ladders to meet the Palmyrans.
‘How many would you say, sir?’ asked Crispus, leaning in close.
Cassius didn’t answer. The Syrians had again done a superb job of depleting the enemy ranks, but by striking so early they had now drawn the full attention of the attackers.
‘Must have been fifty or so,’ Crispus continued. ‘But where are the others?’
As Cassius considered this, one of the Palmyrans by the northern house slid to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his gut. The warrior standing next to him bent over the wounded man but was then struck in the side himself.
Another triumphant cry went up from the legionaries. Cassius peered out at the barracks. There was Vestinus, up on one knee, training his bow at the Palmyrans, the three others beside him. His bow straightened and another bolt flashed away.
Four Palmyrans disappeared behind the aid post, intent on taking out the Roman archers. Those left behind pushed their way inside the dwelling.
‘Look there. The roof!’ someone shouted.
There was only one Syrian still clearly visible. He was on top of the southern house, waving the Romans forward. Sunlight glinted off a familiar earring.
‘That’s Kabir,’ Cassius said.
The fact that Idan had left him showed how desperate their situation was.
‘Shouldn’t we help them, sir?’ asked one legionary.
Cassius looked down at the ground and tried to shut out the noise. He knew that if he delayed much longer, the decision would be irrelevant. Next to him was the flagpole. Protected by the barricades and the legionaries, the standard still flew. But with the Syrians wiped out, the Palmyrans could regroup and attack the carts. With their greater numbers, they would surely prevail.
‘Let’s hit them now, while they’re bottled up,’ suggested Antonius.
Crispus tapped Cassius on the arm and leaned round the flagpole.
‘But sir, what about the other Palmyrans? There are forty more of them out there somewhere.’
Cassius had made up his mind. To sit and wait for the enemy to wipe out their allies before turning on them now seemed folly.
‘We will not abandon them.’
He spoke to the rest of the men.
‘We go to their aid. Bring your shields and pila.’
Cassius was first out. He looked to the rear and was relieved to see that no Palmyrans had circled round behind them. He warily led the legionaries across the square.
They showed little mercy to those left alive. Every warrior wounded about the head was finished off with a jab to the throat or heart.
Up on the barracks roof, Vestinus and his men were still firing, aiming at the windows whenever they caught clear sight of a red tunic.
Cassius and the others glanced anxiously to their left and right as they approached the houses but there was no sign of any more Palmyrans. Crispus was already heading for the southern dwelling with most of his section behind him.
‘My men here!’ shouted Cassius, aiming for the northern house and belatedly realising he’d left his shield inside the barricades. He thought he was moving quickly, but he was swiftly overtaken by Antonius.
Two of the Palmyran swordsmen saw the danger and bolted, one man throwing himself from the window. Antonius slammed his shield into the warrior’s shoulder as he tried to get up, then stabbed down into the base of his back.
The second Palmyran came from the door. Antonius blocked his way. The legionary’s flank was dangerously exposed.
The Palmyran raised his sword.
Cassius forced himself not to think. He threw his blade forward as the swordsman swung down.
There was little strength in Cassius’ extended arm but his weapon absorbed most of the blow and the blades tapped harmlessly against a segment of Antonius’ armour. The burly legionary turned from his first victim and was about to swing again when another Roman rammed a reversed sword pommel into the Palmyran’s face. Three separate blades slid into the warrior before he hit the ground. With a brief nod to Cassius, Antonius joined the others as they swarmed inside.
Cassius looked over at the other dwelling. Crispus and the others had planted themselves in front of the doorway and window. Shields high, they jabbed at the Palmyrans.
Above, Kabir was taking matters into his own hands. He had just clambered over the surround and was now lowering himself over the side. His legs hung just inches from the first-floor window where his tribesmen fought hand to hand with the Palmyrans. It must have been a ten-foot drop but the Syrian rolled athletically to one side as he landed, then sprang to his feet. Yelling in Aramaic, he drew his sword and made for the door.
He was right on Crispus’ heels as the Roman drove his shield into a Palmyran and barged his way inside. From within came an agonised screech.
Cassius moved to the doorway of the northern house. Several bodies lay on the floor. The remaining Palmyrans had backed towards the ladder in the far corner, eyes and blades glinting as they lashed out at the legionaries. The Romans were shouting to each other as they hacked their way forward.
Suddenly there was a loud crack. A section of timber fell to the floor.
With neither Yarak nor any of the other Syrians on the roof, Cassius suddenly realised just how packed the second floor must be. Another timber gave way, showering the legionaries with dust.
‘Get out!’ Cassius yelled. ‘It’s coming down!’
Not one of the legionaries moved.