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your family.” He looked at Regillus. “Shut the gods cursed gates, Praefectus, that’s an order. You cannot save us all. You have a family. I do not. You have your orders, legionnaire. Defend the city .”
    Sheathing his sword, Regillus came to a salute, as crisp as he could make it. Fist to chest, he felt his heart swell with pride. This was a man worth his respect. The tribune mounted his horse, which headed a wedge of fifty cataphractarii forming up in the long tunnel of the gatehouse. He grasped his konton, the heavy lance handed to him by a wounded legionnaire.
    “Save Antiochia, Praefectus. You are the only remaining officer from the IV Syrian alive. The survivors will need someone to keep them fighting until the other legions can arrive.”
    Nodding numbly, Regillus returned to the line of men holding back the Mongolian infantry. Pulling his sword, he positioned himself next to the eagle standard of the IV Syrian, the rallying point that was the focus of the salient.
    “Stand ready to fall back to the gate!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the roar of combat. Regillus turned to look at Phyrsis. The armored warhorses stamped and pawed at the ground. Finally, Phyrsis lifted his clasped fist. Cornices blew, and the cavalry rode down the tunnel, gaining speed as they raced along the cobblestones.
    “Wait for it… form gap now!” Regillus shouted to the men. The ragged Roman line split in two, and the Mongolian infantry blasted into the gap, just in time to be met by the powerful wedge of heavily armed lancers. Men were spitted upon the long spears, the heavily barbed warhorses trampling the attackers beneath them. Reeling in shock, the lightly armed enemy panicked, throwing down weapons and turning their backs on the rampaging cataphractarii .
    “Fall back! To the gate!” Regillus turned and ran, urging the other Roman defenders back as well. The pressure on the line had eased, and the Romans moved quickly, ignoring their exhaustion. Small knots of Romans continued to battle, oblivious to his orders or unable to break free of their attackers.
    He was in the tunnel now. The remaining legionnaires and dismounted cataphractarii formed a rough line across the opening, wide enough to accommodate three wagons. Regillus turned to watch the last charge of Tribune Phrysis. The initial impact of the charge had thrown back the first wave of Mongolian infantry, scattering them and causing them to flee. But the enemy simply sent forward more men, sacrificing ten soldiers to bring down one cataphractarii . They swarmed, stabbing with their short spears, wearing down the lancers.
    Regillus opened a speaking tube that led up to the main gate control.
    “Prepare to drop portcullis and close gates.”
    “There are still men fighting outsid-”
    “Soldier, listen to me! I am Praefectus Alae Regillus, last commanding officer of the IV Syrian. Do as I say, or I will personally kill you before the Mongols. Do you understand?” Regillus shouted into the speakertube. There was silence from the other end, then a different voice came back.
    “This is Watch Officer Hadrianus, please confirm your identity.”
    Regillus paused in his reply, distracted by the death of the last few cataphractarii . Phyrsis was no longer visible. The sally had saved most of the defenders; everyone else was either dead or trapped beyond reach of the gates. Snapping his attention back to the speakertube, Regillus mustered every last amount of authority he could muster.
    “Drop the portcullis, or we are all dead! You hear me? Do it now!” Regillus ordered the Watch Officer. The last Romans scrambled past the hastily assembled defensive line, Mongolian troops hot on their heels. With a clattering, two steel portcullises slid out of the ceiling, slamming into the ground on both sides of the charging nomads. The trapped Mongolians crashed against the barricade, screaming and shouting hatred at their opponents. From hidden murder holes came a cascade of