Centurion c-8

by Simon Scarrow

  The bodyguards had succeeded in opening a gap through the defences and worked hard to widen it as their comrades filtered through, feeding into the temple precinct on the other side. As Archelaus pressed forward Cato went with him, surging ahead with the other mercenaries. The small square in front of the temple was filled with a confused mass of dim figures locked in savage duels. The two sides were only clearly distinguishable by the crested helmets of the royal guardsmen and the conical helmets of the rebels.

  'Cut 'em down!' shouted the commander.

  Archelaus thrust his spear into the sky and added his excited encouragement. 'Come on, boys! Pike the bastards!'

  He ran forward, lowering the tip of his spear, and thrust it into the back of a fleeing enemy. The man threw out his arms and his sword clattered to the ground a moment before his body. Cato moved into the melee, eyes flickering from side to side as he advanced, crouching slightly to spread his weight and make it harder for anyone to knock him down. There was a savage cry from his left and Cato just had time to throw his round shield up and out to block the sword blow which glanced off with a deafening clang. Cato swung round, stabbing out with his spear.The rebel parried it aside with a contemptuous laugh and struck at Cato again, and again, in a flurry of sword blows that drove him back step by step as he desperately blocked the attacks. There was no chance to use the spear and the weapon was little more than a burden in Cato's unpractised hand.

  'Fuck this,' he growled, casting the spear aside and reaching for his sword. He drew the blade from its scabbard with a familiar scrape and hefted it at his side. 'Right then, now let's see how tough you are.'

  He rode out another short flurry of blows, and then leaped forward, slamming his shield against the rebel's. The man stumbled back, off guard, and now Cato struck at him, thrusting at his face and then his exposed thigh, ripping through cloth and flesh. The rebel gasped with agony and staggered away, blood flowing from his wound. Cato rushed forward, throwing his weight behind his shield, and gritted his teeth just before the collision. The rebel crashed to the ground, and just managed to pull his shield up across his body as Cato stood over him, hacking savagely. As soon as he judged that the man had been stunned by the ferocity of his attack Cato paused, glanced down and saw the dark shape of the man's legs and feet below the rim of his shield. Cato stepped back a pace and hacked at the limbs. As the blade shattered a bone the rebel howled. Cato slashed at the writhing limbs a few more times until he was certain the man would pose no further threat, and then turned away, ignoring the screams of agony.

  Around him he could make out enough detail to see that the fight was going their way. Only a handful of figures were still engaged in combat and the long dark shape of the nearly constructed ram housing loomed against the far side of the temple precinct. Cato took a deep breath and called out, 'Archelaus! Archelaus!'

  'Here!' The reply was close by and a moment later a figure strode towards Cato. 'Still with us then, Roman.'

  'Evidently.' Cato could not help returning the Greek's smile for an instant before he gestured to the ram housing. 'You'd better get your lads to work on that, before the enemy gathers enough men to counter-attack.'

  'Yes, at once.' Archelaus turned and called for the men with the incendiary materials to gather round him. As soon as they had found Archelaus and Cato the small party picked its way through the last few groups of men still fighting. They made straight for the ram housing and Cato saw that the timber structure was mounted on large solid wooden wheels. Much of the sturdy frame had already been covered with bales of hide stuffed with animal skins and rags to absorb the impact of any missiles dropped from the citadel gatehouse when the ram was ready to go into action. Inside, hanging from chains, was the long shaft of the ram itself.

  Archelaus stopped to address the small group of men. 'Get as many fires lit as you can. I want this thing well ablaze before we have to retreat.'

  The mercenaries lowered their shields and spears and dispersed themselves around the structure, beginning to gather any combustible material around the places they chose to make their fires. Each carried a tinderbox and one by one they set to work striking flints and blowing on the charred kindling inside.

  As Cato and Archelaus waited, weapons held ready, the first of the small flames licked up and soon the immediate area was illuminated by small fires as sparks and smoke began to swirl through the darkness. For a moment Cato was satisfied that the enemy structure would soon be ablaze. But then, as the kindling began to burn itself out, he realised something was wrong.

  'It's not catching alight.' Cato strode towards the ram housing and sheathed his sword. He reached out to touch the leather hides. 'They've been wetted down… soaked.' Cato turned back to Archelaus. 'Forget setting fire to it. Go for the cordage.'

  The Greek officer nodded and switching his spear to his shield hand he drew his falcata and shouted an order to his men.'Use your swords! Cut the ropes! Set fire to their stores!'

  At once his men abandoned their failing flames and set about the thick coarse ropes from which the ram was suspended. The air was filled with the dull thud of swords striking the twisted hemp and Cato made himself keep his mouth shut as he willed them to work faster. But the night was already coming to an end, he knew, as he glanced at the sky lightening above the rooftops of Palmyra.

  Around him the last of the enemy had been killed or sent running and there were no more sounds of clashing weapons in the temple precinct, no more shouted war cries or muttered oaths. Here and there a man groaned with pain, or called out pitifully for help. Cato strode back towards the ruined barricade and cocked an ear in the direction of the eastern gate. He was relieved to hear the sounds of distant fighting. Macro and the others had begun their attack, and with luck were fighting their way into the city.

  A sudden shout of triumph and a dull thud drew Cato's attention back and he turned to see that the rear of the ram had been cut from its ropes and had fallen to the ground. Archelaus' men at once attacked the remaining ropes with a desperate frenzy of blows. Beyond the temple, in the heart of the city, horns sounded, urgently blasting deep notes to waken and summon the rebel soldiers to trap and slaughter the small band of the royal guard who had had the audacity to mount this sortie against the rebels' siege weapon.

  'Time we got out of here,' Archelaus muttered. 'They'll be after us at any moment.'

  The commander echoed his thoughts a moment later by ordering his men to quit the precinct and form up beyond the remains of the barricade. Archelaus' men abandoned the ram and hurried back towards the agora. Cato quickly inspected the damage. The ram was hanging by one length of cord, badly frayed from sword slashes. Elsewhere flames licked up from piles of hemp and timber. It would set the rebels back perhaps half a day, he estimated. Not much, but it would frustrate Prince Artaxes and his followers and raise the morale of those sheltering in the citadel.

  'Prefect!'

  Cato turned to see Archelaus beckoning to him in the thin light of the coming dawn. He left the ram housing and trotted back to join the mercenaries. The sound of fighting from the eastern gate had faded slightly and Cato fervently hoped that it was because Macro and his men had succeeded in penetrating the city. From the other direction the shouts of the rebels and the blasts of their horns and beating of drums drew closer.As soon as the last of the injured men had been helped into the formation, the commander gave the order to withdraw. In tight ranks the mercenaries marched at a steady pace across the agora towards the citadel gate.A small unit of the bodyguard stood there, defending the gate against any surprise attack from the rebels. Cato nodded with approval. That was the kind of cautious contingency he approved of. Clearly the commander of the syntagma was an experienced and capable officer.

  They had covered over half the distance to the gate when the first of the rebel reinforcements appeared on the far side of the agora. More poured out of the other entrances on to the paved expanse and the commander gave the order for the mercenaries to quicken their pace
. Glancing back, Cato could see that they would easily reach the gate before the rebels could mass enough men together to charge the retreating mercenaries.The gate would be shut before that happened. With a sick feeling Cato realised that it would also be shut in face of the relief column as they approached the citadel.

  'Archelaus! We must stop.'

  'Stop?' The Greek turned to stare at him as if Cato was mad. He nodded over his shoulder. 'In case you hadn't noticed…'

  'We have to keep the gate open.We must leave a way in for the relief column.'

  Archelaus frowned for a moment, then hissed through his teeth. 'You're right. Come with me.'

  He forced a way through the ranks until they reached the commander of the formation.

  'Sir!' Archelaus called out. 'We must halt.'

  'Halt?' The commander shook his head. 'Why?'

  Cato pushed forward. 'We have to keep the way to the citadel clear for the relief column.'

  The commander thought for a moment and then shook his head. 'Too much of a risk. We have to look after ourselves. They'll have to fight their way to the gates.'

  'No!' Cato snapped. 'You can't abandon them.'

  'I'm sorry, Roman.'

  'Damn you! We marched across a desert to help you. Good men have died for you.' Cato forced himself to calm down and muttered, 'Have you no shame?'

  The commander rounded on him angrily, disrupting the march of his men so that they had to flow around the three officers.'Listen, Roman, I don't take orders from you. I look after my men first, and then my employer. You're not even on my list of priorities.'

  Cato glared at him, as his mind raced to come up with some way of persuading the mercenary commander to change his mind. 'Look, you need us. A thousand more men in the garrison could be the difference between surviving until General Longinus arrives with his army, and being wiped out. And supposing you do abandon our relief column, and Longinus gets to hear about it? He'd have his revenge on you. Either way, you die if you don't help those men.' Cato thrust his arm towards the eastern gate.

  The commander clenched his jaw for an instant and then shrugged wearily. 'It seems you leave me no choice, Prefect. Very well then.' He drew a sharp breath and bellowed, 'Halt! Form a line across the agora! Wounded to the citadel!'

  The mercenaries halted abruptly, and then, cajoled by their officers, they spread across the open space and formed up facing the rebels surging towards them.They closed ranks until their shields overlapped and then raised their spears, resting the shafts on shield rims as the enemy drew closer. The commander gestured impatiently to Archelaus.

  'Take ten men from the rear rank. Go and find the relief column, and tell them to get here as quick as they can. I will hold the way open for as long as I can, then…'

  Cato slapped Archelaus on the shoulder before the commander could change his mind. 'Let's go!'

  The small party peeled away from the syntagma and ran for the avenue that led towards the east gate. A loud cheer went up from the rebels as they broke into a charge, hurling themselves towards the thin line of Greek mercenaries with their deadly spears. Cato ignored them and ran into the avenue that led down from the citadel into the heart of the city. The avenue was broad and clear, and in the dimness of the gathering light he could see the sprawl of Palmyra's poorest quarter spread out before him. They trotted down the incline, eyes warily searching for any sign of the enemy. Ahead the route bent slightly and as they rounded the corner Cato saw the familiar oblong shapes of legionary shields marching up towards him. He could not resist letting out a cheer and waving his sword arm in greeting. Archelaus and the others followed suit as they ran towards the relief column.

  Then Cato saw the archers behind the first century of Macro's cohort. He saw them raise their bows, take aim and loose a hail of arrows.

  'Down!' he shouted to Archelaus, ducking behind his shield. The mercenaries followed suit, save one who paused too long to stare in bewilderment at the dark shafts streaking towards them. With a wet thwack an arrow slammed through his throat and burst out at the back of his neck. He reached for the shaft with a dazed expression etched on his face, and tried to speak, but couldn't as blood filled his throat.

  Cato tore his eyes away and shouted down the alley, as loud as he could.

  'Cease shooting! It's Prefect Cato!'

  More arrows rattled off the paved avenue and the fronts of their shields. Then there was a gasp and Cato glanced round and saw Archelaus topple backwards on to the ground, an arrow shaft protruding from his chest, just below the shoulder.

  'Cease shooting!' Cato cried out desperately.

  08 Centurion

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Macro felt a chill clamp round the back of his neck as he heard Cato's cry. Instantly, he turned and bellowed towards Balthus and his men. 'Stop! Cease shooting!' He gestured frantically towards the dim figures sheltering behind their round shields. 'They're on our side!'

  Balthus lowered his bow and shouted an order to his men and they followed suit, easing the tension on the nocked arrows. Satisfied that the danger was over Macro thrust his way through the front ranks, and started running up the hill towards his friend, bellowing the order for the column to continue their advance towards the citadel.

  'Cato! Cato! Where are you, lad?' Macro slowed as he approached the men warily rising up from behind their shields. One man was down, lying flat on his back and quite still, shot through the throat by an arrow. Another man lay on the ground clutching the shaft that had pierced his thigh. A third man was wounded in the shoulder and was being helped up by one of his comrades who had already pulled the arrow free.

  'Cato?'

  A face turned towards him, and in the growing light Macro felt a wave of relief wash through him as he recognised his friend. He forced a laugh.'Might have guessed that you'd be lucky enough to dodge those arrows.'

  Cato's expression remained grim. 'It's a bloody miracle that any of us are still standing.'

  'Well,' Macro waved his hand dismissively, 'we were hardly expecting to see friendly faces before we reached the citadel. In any case, it's easy to mistake friend for foe in the darkness, as we all know.'

  Cato stared coldly at him for a moment and Macro fervently wished he had not said what he had. He stepped forward and reached down towards the man Cato was helping. 'I'll take his other side.'

  'No, wait.'

  But Macro had already slipped his hand under the man's arm and lifted him with a powerful heave. The mercenary rose to his feet with an agonised groan and Macro saw that the stump of the shaft still protruded from the wound where it had snapped off.

  'Ah, sorry, mate. Couldn't see it there.'

  The mercenary clenched his teeth together and rolled his eyes as he fought back the agony burning through his shoulder.

  Cato shook his head. 'Nice going, sir.'

  'Only trying to help.' Macro's tone was momentarily surly.'Anyway, what's the situation and what the hell are you doing wearing that get-up?'

  'I'd hardly be able to sneak into Palmyra with Roman kit, would I? In any case,' Cato looked away as he supported Archelaus, 'I wanted to be there to make sure the relief column reached the citadel safely.'

  Macro was deeply moved by his friend's concern for his safety, and then felt a surge of embarrassment. At once he tried to push the feeling aside before Cato could guess at it. He turned away to urge the relief column to pick up its pace before he could trust himself to address Cato again.

  'These Greeks of yours look tough enough. I assume there's more like 'em in the citadel.'

  'They're not my Greeks. These men are under the command of Archelaus,' Cato nodded towards the man he was helping.

  'Archelaus, eh? Pleased to meet you.' Macro thrust out his hand, but the Greek, still clenching his teeth, glanced down at his wound and then back at Macro with raised eyebrows.

  'Ah, yes. Sorry.' Macro smiled awkwardly. 'Good to meet you all the same.'

  Cato grunted under his burden.'Now the formalities
are over, let's get to the citadel.'

  'Yes, of course. These men can fall in with us.' Macro looked up the street as the sound of the fighting in the agora carried towards them. 'What's happening up ahead?'

  'The king's bodyguard are keeping the citadel gates cleared for you,' Cato explained. 'But we must hurry. They won't be able to hold the rebels back for long.'

  The column continued up the street, towards the sound of fighting. As they emerged into the agora Macro glanced to his right and saw the line of Greek mercenaries giving ground under pressure of the enemy hacking at them from beyond their shield wall. From the walls of the citadel, a steady barrage of arrows, javelins and ballista bolts rained down on the rebel horde, thinning their numbers as they surged towards the Greeks.