Centurion

'You're to guard our flanks until the last of the auxiliaries are inside the city. Then you become the rear guard. Keep your men formed up and stay on the street.You will not stop to engage any rebels.You will ignore any attacks from alleys and side streets. If the column is forced to stop then the initiative goes to the other side. If that happens, we're as good as dead. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir,' the centurions chorused.

'Good. And by the way.' Macro gestured to the evidence of the bloody struggle around them. 'Good job.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

By the time Macro returned to the street, the first of Balthus' men had positioned themselves at the rear of the first century, bows at the ready. Balthus had joined them, armed with his own bow, gaudily decorated, but quite deadly, Macro realised. He strode over to join the prince.

'All set?'

'Yes, Centurion. We head up that street, as far as the market, then left through the arch on to the way that leads to the citadel.'

'Very well.' Macro cupped his hand to his mouth. 'Column!… Advance!'

Even in the brief time it had taken to re-form the column the rebels had appeared at the far end of the street, and as the Roman vanguard tramped forward the first arrows cracked into the shields of the front rank. Balthus' men shot back at once and the rebels scurried for cover as the missiles arced towards them.

'Now we're in for trouble,' Macro growled.

Balthus looked at him. 'Why?'

'You'll see.' Macro's gaze flickered over the buildings lining the street ahead of them. Then he saw a faint blur of movement from one of the roofs and he stabbed a finger towards the spot. 'Up there!'

As the column approached the place where the arrows shot by Balthus' men lay on the paved surface of the street, a lump of masonry was hurled down from an overlooking building. Macro shouted a warning, too late to prevent its smashing down on to the shoulder of the first century's standard-bearer. The blow drove the man down on to his knees. He groaned and tried to keep the heavy shaft held up with his other hand, but the standard tottered a moment and began to fall to the side. Macro leaped towards the man and snatched the standard from his grasp before it hit the ground. He turned and gestured towards two of the men following him.

'You, take over the standard. And you help the bearer to the rear.'

The man chosen to take the standard was a wiry youth, whose expression openly betrayed his pride at being entrusted with the task.

'You know the score,' Macro said tersely. 'Keep it up where the men can see it, and defend it with your life.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then carry on.' Macro nodded towards the first century marching steadily up the street. 'Don't fall behind.'

As the legionary scurried forward someone shouted a warning as more masonry was thrown down from the roofs on either side.

'Shields!' Macro shouted. 'Raise shields overhead!'

His men lifted their shields and formed a loosely interlocking protective screen over their heads. Balthus' men had no such protection, but in any case they were busy taking shots at any figures that became visible on the roofs. The first of them suddenly cried out and crumpled to the ground close by Macro, felled by a sling shot. There was no time to check if his wound was fatal as the column moved on. Ahead Macro could just make out the place where the street opened out on to the market. A file of rebel soldiers trotted into view and quickly formed up, locking their shields and presenting their sturdy spears to the Romans as they paced towards the end of the street and filled the gap. Macro drew Balthus' attention to the men ahead and the prince rattled out a quick series of orders. His archers instantly turned their attention towards the men blocking the route and began to loose arrows in their direction. But these rebels were part of Palmyra's small but effective army; a contingent that had betrayed their king. Like the Romans they raised their shields and the arrows clanged off the bronzed surfaces.

'Spearmen to your front!' Macro warned.

The spearmen were packed tightly into the width of the street and came on steadily, at a pace called out by their officer.The legionaries advanced on them without faltering, shields held out and swords raised to the horizontal, ready to thrust. One of the men began to beat the side of his blade against the shield trim and within moments the rest of the leading century followed suit and the rhythmic metallic clank echoed off the walls on either side. As the Roman column advanced Macro glanced warily down each alley they passed, and saw occasional fleeting movements in the dark shadows. Every so often an arrow or a stone would fly out and clatter off a shield or the armour of one of Macro's men.They were more of a nuisance than a danger and it was only the handful of the enemy who had reached the roofs of the houses lining the street who presented a real threat as they continued to hurl missiles down on the column tramping up the street.

As the gap between the two sides narrowed Macro forced his way through the ranks of the first century until he marched only a few ranks from the front. He drew his sword, raised it to hip level and joined in with his men as they continued to rap their blades against the edges of their shields. Ahead, the small enemy force, armour glinting faintly in the flickering glow of the torches held by a handful of men on either side, suddenly checked their pace and hefted their spears up and changed to an overhand grip, ready to stab with the sharp points. Macro and his men responded by raising their shields a little higher so that they were now peering over the rims as they came on.Then they were within striking range and the rebel soldiers shouted their war cries as they stabbed their spears at the Romans. The legionaries instinctively lowered their heads so the only targets were the crests of their helmets and the broad, curved surfaces of the shields. The savagely sharp spearheads thudded into the shields or glanced harmlessly off helmets as the Romans pressed ahead and closed to sword's length before rushing forward with a loud roar. Shield crashed against shield and then the Romans hacked at the spear shafts, battering them down before turning on the rebels and striking at them with ruthless and brutal abandon.

'Stick it to 'em, lads!' Macro shouted. 'Go in hard and fast!'

Against other enemies the trained spearmen might well have prevailed, but the legionaries had thrust the spears aside and closed the gap and now the spears were almost worse than useless. Some of the rebels wisely cast theirs down, or hurled them forward into the Roman ranks, before drawing their swords. Macro saw that they were armed with falcatas, short, down-curved swords with heavy blades that were lethal cutting weapons. There was a continuous chorus of thuds as shield slammed against shield and then the men of both sides began the bloody work of hacking and stabbing at each other whenever a gap appeared between the shields. As he heaved his weight behind the men in the front rank Macro noted that the rebel's swords had an unexpected advantage in close combat. The downward curve at the heavy end of the blade could only strike over the rim of a shield by a small distance, but it was lethal enough if the man behind the shield had his head raised far enough to peer over the top. Just ahead of Macro there was a sharp metallic crack as a falcata cut through the helmet of a legionary and cleaved his skull.The man dropped like a sack of wet barley and his sword clattered to the ground, his shield falling back to cover the body.

At once Macro rushed over the corpse to fill the gap and straightened his arm to stab at the man who had killed the legionary.The rebel saw the glint of the blade and threw his shield up just in time to deflect the blow and then Macro's heavy legionary shield slammed into him, and the rebel staggered back a step. The rearmost ranks of both sides surged forward, pressing together the men who had been exchanging blows. Now it was almost impossible to fight and Macro leaned into his shield and pushed, gritting his teeth as he braced his booted feet and heaved. Around him other men grunted and strained as they sought to push the enemy back. From just the other side of his shield Macro could hear the laboured breathing of the man he had tried to kill. Now neither could strike, and the bitter skirmish was a simple test of strength and numbers.