The Legion (34 page)

The Romans pressed on through the breach, leaving several of their men dead and injured in their wake. Closing up their ranks, the men at the head of the column tramped across the narrow strip of open ground. They made for the barricade across the opening through the temple wall into the first of the colonnaded courtyards inside. Ajax stared hard at the leading century but could not see any sign of the two Roman officers.

‘Keep shooting,’ he ordered the Arab officer in command of the archers. Then he turned towards the stairs leading down into the interior of the pylon. ‘Come, Karim.’

They hurried down the steep flight of steps lit at each level by the wan glow of an oil lamp. The first sounds of fighting echoed up the walls from outside and Ajax quickened his pace. As he emerged from the base of the pylon he saw his men crowded between the columns to his left. Ajax drew his sword and ran across towards them.

‘Make way!’ he called out. ‘Move!’

The Arabs glanced round and stepped aside to clear a path towards the barricaded entrance. The gap between the curtain wall and the temple was no more than eight feet wide and had been filled with blocks of stone removed from the small courtyard in front of the main pylons to form a slim fighting ledge. Some of Ajax’s gladiators stood there, ready to cut down any Roman that tried to get over. On either side, on top of the temple wall, the Arab archers continued to draw their bows and loose arrows at the Roman column stretching back towards the breach. The legionaries presented a clear target in the flickering glare of the fire arrows and were forced to hunch down behind their shields as they waited for the vanguard to break through into the heart of the temple.

Ajax and Karim heaved themselves up on to the ledge and stood alongside the handful of men defending the wall. A few bodies littered the open ground and the head of the Roman column stood off, twenty feet away, shields protecting the soldiers from the missiles angling in from each side as well as from above. Every so often one of the Romans would bob up to hurl a javelin at the defenders. They had little time to take careful aim before they quickly ducked back behind their shields.

‘What are they waiting for?’ Ajax muttered to himself.

He had barely spoken when he saw a slow ripple passing down the centre of the Roman column. Then, over at the breach, he saw more men spilling out into the gap between the curtain wall and the temple. They wore the conical helmets and scale armour of auxiliary archers and carried wooden screens with them. The screens were quickly set down and the supports kicked back and then the archers set to work targeting the Arabs on the pylons and the walls of the temple. Ajax paid them little regard, he was more concerned by the activity within the column of legionaries. The shield wall at the front of the formation abruptly parted and a small party of men ran forward with a ramp made from lengths of palm logs tied to a ladder. Another party carrying a second ramp rushed out behind them and they made straight for the barricade.

‘Shoot them down!’ Ajax shouted, thrusting his arm out. The nearest archers on the roof of the temple turned at once, aimed down and loosed their shafts. Two men fell, one clutching at the arrow that had passed through his thigh, the other shot through the neck. But the ramp carriers ran on. When they reached the wall, the leading pair heaved the end of the ladder up and the poles clattered down on the top of the barricade. At once the nearest Roman soldiers broke ranks and surged forward, boots thudding down on the ramp before the defenders could push it away. Ajax thrust at the poles of the second ramp before the first of the legionaries reached it and the ramp grated back and then toppled to one side. The iron nails of the boots of the leading legionary scraped on the palm logs as he charged up towards the defenders. Ajax glimpsed the shield above him, and the sword blade rising up, gleaming as it caught the light from one of the archers’ braziers. He hacked horizontally, beneath the rim of the shield, and the edge of his blade bit into the Roman’s shin, just above his ankle, cutting through flesh and muscle before shattering bone. The man let up a shrill cry as his leg gave way and he fell back on the legionary behind him. The second man was knocked off balance and fell off the ramp, together with his wounded comrade, and both landed with a heavy clatter as their armour and shields struck the ground.

The next men rushed up the ramp. This time the leading soldier was more wary, keeping his shield low as he reached the top of the wall. Ajax held his sword hand back as he grasped the edge of the shield and gave it a quick wrench. He managed to pull it at an angle, exposing the thigh and side of the legionary. The gladiator to Ajax’s left was armed with a spear and instantly took advantage of the opening to thrust into the Roman’s leg. The strike was quickly made and lacked the force to make a crippling wound. Even so, the legionary groaned and drew back momentarily. Then, realising that there was no retreat for him, as his comrades pressed from behind, he came on again, punching his shield out and striking Ajax on the chest. There was nothing Ajax could do to avoid the shield and he rode back with it and fell off the wall, crashing down on to the Arabs waiting beneath. Two of them broke his fall and they collapsed under the bulky weight of the gladiator. The landing drove the wind out of his lungs and for a brief moment Ajax lay stunned on top of the squirming Arabs. Then he struggled back on to his feet and looked up to see that the spearman had struck again, this time into the legionary’s groin, and the Roman doubled up, dropping his shield. Karim had climbed up into Ajax’s place and now finished the man with a deep cut into his exposed neck. The Roman collapsed on to the ramp and slid back a short distance into the next man.

The end of the second ramp appeared on top of the wall again and Ajax shouted up to his men, ‘Push it back! Keep ’em off the barricade!’

The head and shoulders of the first legionary to make a run up the second ramp appeared as the only other man on the wall hacked at the end of the ramp with a heavy falcata. The wood splintered and Karim struck again as the legionary loomed over him. The strut gave way with a loud crack and pitched the Roman over on to the other ramp, right in the path of one of his comrades who stumbled to a halt just in time to stop himself tripping.

‘Don’t bloody stop! Go! Go forward!’ Macro’s voice bellowed from the other side of the wall. Ajax felt his heart harden and grasped the edge of the platform. Heaving himself up, he thrust one of his gladiators aside. ‘Get off.’

As the man jumped down, Ajax stared into the enemy soldiers milling around below him until he caught sight of the transverse crest of Macro’s helmet. The Roman was standing to one side of his men, and there beside him was the taller form of another officer – his friend, the prefect. Ajax sheathed his sword and turned to wrench the spear out of the next man’s hands. It would have been gratifying to save his enemy for a more lingering death, but Ajax knew that he must seize the chance to strike before it passed. At his side Karim clashed with another legionary attempting to cross the barricade. Ajax ignored the thud of Karim’s sword on the Roman’s shield and hefted the spear into an overhand grip. He raised it up above his head and drew his arm back as he took aim at the two officers. A grim feeling of satisfaction filled his mind as he recalled a similar situation back on Crete when it was Macro who was defending a wall and had hurled the spear that had killed one of Ajax’s closest companions.

He breathed deeply and then exhaled in a long, calm breath and threw his arm forward, releasing the shaft of the spear. It flew down from the wall, straight towards the two men.

‘Macro! Look out!’ The prefect shoved his friend aside an instant before the spear would have caught him squarely in the chest. Instead it struck the prefect, high on the left shoulder, the impact sending him sprawling into the sand and grit of the open ground before the temple wall.

‘Ha!’ Ajax snarled though gritted teeth, his face fixed in an expression of savage triumph. He just had time to spare the two officers one last look, as Macro stooped over his friend, and then Ajax snatched out his sword and turned back to the fight alongside him. Karim was still duelling with the same Roman, exchanging sword blows that rang sharply. But the legionary was one against two and even as he parried another thrust, Ajax hooked his blade around the edge of the shield and ran it through his enemy’s arm, severing muscles. The shield slipped from the Roman’s grasp and he instinctively recoiled a pace, out of range of their swords. At once two arrows slammed into him from above, piercing his sword arm in two places. The Roman howled in agony and staggered to the side and fell off the ramp, tumbling on to the bodies of those below.

The attackers at the bottom of the ramp hesitated, then one was struck in the face by another arrow and jerked up to his full height and trembled wildly for an instant before he dropped to the ground. There were more bodies on either side of the leading century as well as a handful of Arabs who had been shot down from the wall of the temple.

‘Fall back!’ a voice cried out. ‘Fall back!’

There was a brief hesitation, then Ajax saw the legionaries begin to shuffle away from the end of the surviving ramp. More of them took up the cry and the leading century began to break up as it fell back towards the breach.

‘Stop!’ Macro bellowed at them. ‘Stand your ground! Damn you! Cowards!’

Ajax saw him half rise as he cursed his men, then Macro looked down at the still figure at his feet. For a moment the centurion seemed torn, then he bent down and heaved his superior on to his shoulder and began to pace after his men under the awkward burden. Ajax felt sick to the core at the thought of his enemies escaping, then a handful of arrows landed in the sand close to Macro.

‘Shoot at the officers!’ Ajax shouted, stabbing his sword towards them. ‘Shoot them down!’

In the frenzied excitement of the attack only those men nearest to him heard the order and had the presence of mind to pick out the two Roman officers. Ajax watched intently as more shafts whirled through the wavering light of the fire arrows still burning where they had landed. Macro picked up his pace, scrambling away as fast as he could, jinking from side to side to put off the archers’ aim. An arrow glanced off the prefect’s armour and another flew past Macro’s helmet as he made a last dash towards a cluster of the screens that had been erected by the auxiliary archers. Macro unceremoniously dumped Cato down in their shelter and stumbled to his knees beside the prefect.

‘Shit,’ Ajax muttered furiously, clenching his spare fist. He continued to glare at the archers’ screens as Macro dragged his friend in to make him as safe as possible from the Arab archers, whose arrows struck the screen or buried their iron heads into the dusty ground instead. Most of the men from the First Century had already reached the safety of the breach, or were also taking shelter behind the screens. As Ajax watched, the Romans continued to withdraw, the prefect protected by several archers holding their screens up as Macro and some of his men carried Cato to safety. As the last of the Romans fell back through the breach, Ajax ground his teeth.

‘We should save our arrows, sir,’ said Karim.

Ajax cleared his mind of rage and nodded. ‘Give the order.’

‘Cease shooting!’ Karim called out to each side. ‘Cease shooting!’

The Arabs stopped loosing their arrows and climbed down from the temple wall, leaving a handful to keep watch on the enemy. The last of the auxiliary archers pulled back to the other side of the breach and shortly afterwards the bolt throwers fell silent. The night air was disturbed only by a gentle breeze and the cries of the wounded, Roman and Arab blended in a chorus of agony. A handful of the fire arrows still burned, as did the braziers on the pylons and walls of the temple, casting a thin orange light across the scene of the Romans’ first assault. They had lost over twenty men, Ajax estimated. But more than that, they had suffered a blow to their morale. The next time they came forward, they would know that they faced a storm of arrows and the same determined defence of the barricade. They would have to advance past the bodies of their comrades and ignore the pitiful cries for help from the wounded. The Roman commander would think twice before making a second frontal assault.

‘What now?’ Karim mused quietly. ‘Do you think they’ll make another attempt tonight?’

Ajax pondered for a moment. ‘I would, if I was in their place. Every hour they are delayed here is an hour gained for Prince Talmis . . . They’ll attack again.’

‘Then what should we do, General?’

‘Do?’ Ajax smiled thinly. ‘Nothing. I doubt that even our spy can help us now.’

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

‘
H
ow is he?’ Macro stood over his friend as the legion’s surgeon carefully inspected Cato’s shoulder by the light of an oil lamp held by his assistant.

The surgeon sucked in an impatient breath. Without looking up he spoke. ‘I might be able to tell you, sir, if you would be kind enough not to stand between the light and my patient.’

Macro stood back a pace.

‘Thank you.’ The surgeon bent towards Cato and examined the prefect’s shoulder. As soon as Macro had withdrawn from the temple compound, he had two of his men carry Cato back as far as the bolt throwers and then sent for the surgeon at once. Cato had struck his head on the ground as the impact of the spear knocked him off his feet. He had blacked out and came round as Macro and Hamedes had carried him away from the curtain wall. He was still dazed, but aware enough of the pain in his shoulder to curse and mumble incoherently. Macro had removed Cato’s helmet, harness and scaled armour before the surgeon arrived and now Cato lay on a pile of straw in the corner of a small stable where the air was rich with the aroma of dung. Macro had ordered Hamedes to wait outside rather than crowd the space unnecessarily.

The surgeon eased the tunic off Cato’s shoulder and looked closely at the discoloured flesh. ‘No open wound. That’s good. He was hit by a spear, you say?’

‘Yes. Seemed to catch him square on.’