The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon (читать книги без .txt) 📗

He turned back just as the first of the enemy appeared over the crest, kicking up a cloud of dust as they scrambled into the breach. Arrows shot down on them from either side and several fell out of sight, but more took their place and charged up the uneven and shifting slope into the fort with a shrill war cry. A black wave of silhouettes surged forward, over the crest, and then stumbled down into the gloomy killing zone in front of the inner wall.

'Prepare javelins!' Cato called out. The men on the wall raised their javelins and swung their arms back. Cato waited a moment, allowing more men to struggle over the rubble to give his men a densely packed target. Then he raised his sword.

'Ready!… Loose javelins!'

With a collective grunt of effort the auxiliaries threw their arms forward, releasing the iron-tipped shafts into the raging mob pressing into the small area in front of the inner wall. Scores of the Judaean rebels were struck down, pierced through by the Roman javelins. The cries of triumph that had been on their lips a moment earlier died with them and there was a brief hush inside the fort as the attackers stalled for a moment in shock at the effect of the first volley. On the Roman side, the auxiliaries were already taking up the replacement javelins handed to them from behind and readying them for the next volley.

Cato filled his lungs and shouted out,'Release at will!'

A steady shower of javelins rained down on the enemy packed in front of the inner wall and more and more bodies littered the ground as the shafts of javelins spiked up like thickets of reeds. And still the Judaeans came on, emerging from the thick dust as they scrambled into the fort, and added to the tightly packed target making it impossible for the Romans to miss. Cato felt sick as he watched the slaughter. Already the ground was almost covered with dead and injured, drenched in blood, and he had to fight the impulse to order his men to stop. The dreadful killing must continue if they were to shatter the enemy's will to fight on.

For what seemed an age the Judaeans kept coming, and those caught in the trap began to cry out in panic, and shout in frustration and rage as they could neither press forward to engage the Romans nor move back, away from the terrible rain of javelins. The constant pressure from behind, from those as yet unaware of the massacre taking place inside the fort, continued to press on those at the front, forcing them to their deaths.

Then, at last, somehow, word spread back beyond the breach and the order was given to call off the attack. Still showered with javelins and shot at with arrows the Judaeans began to retreat, pressing back as they scrambled over rubble and the bodies of their comrades until they had gone, retreating into the fading purple light of dusk. Cato sheathed his sword and gazed upon a nightmare scene of tangled bodies, javelin shafts at every angle and dark blood splashed over it all.Yet there was still life amid the tide of human destruction. Here and there bodies writhed in agony or shifted feebly as the injured moaned and cried for help, or a merciful end. Cato turned away and jumped down from the fighting platform, striding round the base of the inner wall until he reached the ladder that led up to the main wall and climbed the rungs. From the height of the wall he could see across the ground towards the enemy camp. The Judaeans were streaming away from the fort, encouraged on their way by the arrows still flying after them from the walls. A few of the enemy, more resolute than their companions, were standing their ground and whirring slings overhead as they loosed slingshot back at the Romans.

Cato leaned over the breach and stared at the bodies piled before the inner wall. There had to be more than a hundred of them, and maybe twenty or thirty more shot down outside the gatehouse.The losses of this first assault had been terrible and Bannus would have a hard time trying to persuade his men back into the breach, Cato reflected. He raised his head and glanced towards the enemy camp, wondering what Bannus would be thinking as he beheld the failure of the first attempt to overrun the fort.

'Sir!' One of the archers beside him anxiously gestured to Cato to get down. 'Once those bloody slingers see the crest on your helmet you'll draw their fire like bees to honey.'

As if on cue, the air was filled with the zip of slingshot and Cato ducked down. He nodded to the archer gratefully. 'Thanks for the warning.'

'Warning?' The man's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Wasn't warning you, sir. Just didn't want them all aiming my way.'

'Oh.' Cato laughed. 'Thanks anyway.'

The archer shrugged and then notched another arrow and looked cautiously over the rampart for a suitable target. Suddenly he bobbed up, loosed his arrow, and ducked down. An instant later a lead shot cracked into the other side of the rampart.With the walls still bathed in the fading light, and the desert before them swallowed up by shadows Cato realised that the advantage would be with the slingers until the last rays of the sun had died away.

He turned to the archers. 'Keep it up until they're out of range. Pick your targets! I don't want anyone to waste arrows. We're going to need them.'

They exchanged a quick salute and then Cato climbed back down into the fort to rejoin the men on the inner wall. So many of the enemy had died right up against the base of the wall that they were already providing the basis of a ramp and Cato decided to deal with that straight away. He looked for Centurion Parmenion in the gloom and beckoned him over.

'We need to get those bodies away from the inner wall.Take two of the reserve centuries and get the enemy dead out of the fort. Put them in view of the attackers. Make a pile of the bodies, something they can see. Once that's done pick up the serviceable javelins out there and bring them back inside the wall. Got that?'

'Yes sir,' Parmenion replied. 'After what they did to Sycorax we'll show them that two can play games with morale.'

Cato clapped him on the shoulder. 'That's the idea. Get our men to work.'

While Parmenion bellowed his orders Cato returned to the main wall to keep watch on the enemy. The Judaeans had fallen back some distance and their leaders were doing their best to rally them for another attempt. Already, some fires were being lit in the Judaean camp and torches were held high, illuminating men at work rolling bundles of sticks towards the fort. At the same time, soldiers with the conical helmets of Parthians were straining to wheel the surviving onager closer to the target. Cato glanced down and saw that Parmenion and his men had lowered ladders over the inner wall and were already busy lifting the bodies under their shoulders and dragging them up the mound of rubble, down the far side and on to a growing pile just in front of the breach. Some of the enemy were still living, and the auxiliaries despatched them with quick thrusts to the heart, or cut their throats, before dragging them away.

As darkness closed in over the desert, and the first stars twinkled coldly in the ink-black sky, the enemy came on again.There was a warning shout and a moment later the men who had been tasked with clearing the bodies away began to scramble back over the inner wall, pulling the ladders up behind them.

This time there was no arrogant roar of triumph, no rousing rattle of sword and spear against shield rim, just a silent approach of a dark mass of men, stealing towards the fort. They stopped just outside arrow range and waited as the onager was brought forward.A flickering torch filtered through the mass and then a fire flared up in a brazier, close by the onager, revealing the mass of men huddled round the huge weapon.

It did not take long to see what they were waiting for. A faggot was placed in the cup of the onager and quickly set on fire before the throwing arm was released with a metallic clank and an instant later the thud of the restraining bar. The faggot blazed up into the night sky, trailing flickering tongues of flame, sailing towards the fort until it struck the top of the rampart in a brilliant shower of sparks and bounced over the wall and crashed down into the street beside a stable block. A moment later the first fire arrow followed, then more, until a regular bombardment of fire arrows fell on the fort, interspersed with large flammable bundles of kindling wood, doused with oil, bursting on to the buildings inside the walls. The lack of rain had made the timbers of the fort dry and combustible and soon several fires had broken out beyond the breach.