'Javelins!' Macro called out and the front rank rose up from behind their shields and drew their throwing arms back. The fleetest of the Nubians was already within range of the lightest javelins. Macro snatched a breath and cried out, 'Release!'

The legionaries hurled their right arms forward and the javelins leaped from their hands. Although the javelins had the least range of the missiles the Romans used to whittle down their attackers, they were almost as lethal as the bolt throwers, and Macro watched with cool satisfaction as the first volley skewered many of the Nubians leading the charge. At once the men in the second line of legionaries handed a fresh javelin to their comrades and a follow-up volley landed amongst the enemy, the heavy shafts bursting through shields and flesh and bone with flat thuds. There was just time for a third release of javelins before the front ranks wrenched out their short swords, swiftly ordered their ranks and presented their shields to the enemy.

Macro took his place in the middle of the cohort, in the second rank, ready to enter the fight at the first opportunity. The Nubians, having suffered severe casualties in the final charge, were robbed of impetus as they struck the Roman line, arriving as individuals and small clusters of lightly armoured warriors. Years of hard training had prepared the legionaries for close combat and the Nubians were cut down from sword thrusts from the side as they attempted to duel the man directly in front of them. The advantage did not last long, as more and more of the enemy joined the fight. As the enemy warriors surged forward against the bowed line of shields, Macro could not see an end to them before those at the back merged into the dust kicked up by thousands of feet.

'Hold on, lads!' he called out at the top of his voice. 'Hold the line!'

The legionaries alternated between quick thrusts with their nimble short swords and punching their heavy rectangular shields forward. The heavy chain mail and scale armour and sturdy helmets gave them far greater protection than most of the men opposed to them. Prince Talmis had few regular soldiers, and aside from some eastern mercenaries and the Arabs, his army was mostly made up from tribesmen. They carried an assortment of spears, swords and clubs, and carried flimsy hide shields. Consequently, they died in droves as they came up against the men of the First Cohort and the auxiliaries on either side.

The soldier in front of Macro made a thrust and then howled in agony as he withdrew his arm. A sword blow had nearly severed his wrist and the useless fingers twitched and released the blade. Macro pushed past him as the legionary groaned and clutched his mutilated limb to his chest, blood spurting down the silvered scales of his armour. Macro crouched slightly, carrying his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move swiftly. He held his shield up to protect his face and stared over the rim at his enemies as he held his sword poised.

A large warrior in a thick leather cuirass held a heavy curved sword in both hands above his head. His eyes met Macro's and he smiled savagely as he stretched his arms back to make a powerful blow. Then he slashed down. Macro saw that the blade would split his shield in two, and take his left arm with it. He sprang forward, inside the arc of the massive blade and slammed his shield into the man's chest and head. The Nubian's arms struck the rim of the shield and the sword leaped from his hands, embedding the point in the sand behind Macro. He punched his blade into the Nubian's side, ripped it out and thrust again before stepping back into the line of the First Cohort. The Nubian stumbled away and was lost amid swirling robes of two Arabs with spears who took his place in front of the centurion. They immediately jabbed at Macro but their weapons were easily blocked by the shield and Macro made no attempt to step forward and strike at them. Their futile blows thudded against the leather surface until the press of their comrades behind them forced them right up against the line of legionaries.

This was the kind of fighting which the legionaries' equipment had been designed for and at which the soldiers excelled, and all along the line the Nubians found themselves confronted by an unbroken wall of heavy shields behind which well-armoured men stood their ground, striking brutally into the ill-protected bodies packed together beyond the shields. Mortally wounded and injured Nubians fell before the Roman line, and the terrified cries of the still living were stifled as their comrades trampled over them to get at the legionaries. Most were driven on by courage, hatred of Rome and the prospect of looting the province. Others, even the cowards, had no choice as there was no way to escape the battle through the dense mass of bodies surging forward. Those far enough back to be subjected to the continued fall of Roman arrows could do nothing to avoid the deadly barbs, only pray to their gods for protection.

The Nubians were spared the danger of the bolt throwers as Cato had given the order for them to conserve ammunition rather than fire blind into the dust that obscured the view a short distance from the battle line. The crews were whipping their mule trains as the carts on which the bolt throwers were mounted were driven back to the second position Cato had chosen the previous evening.

Slowly the vast numbers of the enemy began to tell and the First Cohort was forced to give ground, step by step. Men were falling, caught by spear thrusts through gaps in the shield wall, or sometimes overwhelmed when one of the Nubians managed to wrench a shield aside long enough for one of his fellows to strike a blow at the legionary behind. Though the losses of the Nubians were far greater, Cato could see that the four-deep line with which the cohort had begun the battle was reduced to three men in most places. The bowed-out formation was steadily flattened, and then began to curve inwards as the more solid formations on either side of the First Cohort still managed to hold their ground. Out on the wings the cavalry cohorts were fighting off a second, half-hearted attack by the enemy horsemen. The battle was going to plan, Cato realised, and he promised a generous offering to Fortuna if luck continued to favour the side of Rome, as the battle entered the decisive phase. It all depended on Macro and the First Cohort, holding their formation as they gradually fell back.

'Sir?'

Cato turned to see an optio standing beside his horse. 'Yes?'

'Message from the Prefect Scyllus, sir. He begs to report that his archers are running out of arrows.'

'Very well. Tell the prefect to save what he has left and form his men up behind the reserves.'

'Yes, sir.' The optio saluted and turned to run back towards his unit.

As the rain of arrows stopped, the enemy drums beat with renewed energy and the horns blared out to offer encouragement to the Nubians. The pressure continued and the Roman centre was driven inwards as the enemy pushed forward, heedless of their own dead strewn across the battlefield beneath their feet. Prince Talmis's body of heavy infantry had pushed their way through the throng and now engaged the tiring men of the First Cohort. Well trained and equipped, they were able to fight the Romans on a more equal footing and more of Macro's men were cut down. The line was growing perilously thin as Cato watched. Yet he dare not give the order to spring the trap before he was certain the moment was right.

'Sir!' Junius shouted, thrusting his arm out. 'They're going to break through!'

Cato turned and saw the threat at once. A short distance to the right of Macro's centre a single rank of legionaries was struggling to hold back the enemy. They thrust their shields forward and their iron-nail shod boots scrabbled in the sand and grit as they desperately tried to stand their ground. But it was like holding back a flood with a line of sticks. One of the men slipped and went down on his knee. At once two Nubians thrust his shield back, knocking the legionary flat. He was run through with a spear even before he could prop himself back up on an elbow. More men pressed through the gap and turned on the Romans on either side.