A scraping sound filled the air as the shallow hulls of the warships struck the shore. With near-perfect symmetry, vessel after vessel climbed the beach before their momentum ground to a halt.

‘Wait for it!’

The upper decks of the biremes emptied of soldiers as the officers sent their men down below. Dion tried to calm his breathing and fixed his gaze on the closest warship, just forty paces away. A torrent of yellow-cloaked soldiers poured out from both sides of the bireme’s lowest deck. The men at the front entered water that was barely ankle deep, while those at the back plunged in to their waists.

Dion remembered burning the ships back at Lamara’s harbor. He only wished he’d been able to destroy more. He drew the string to his cheek and picked his target: a bearded warrior with oiled hair slicked to his scalp.

‘Fire!’

Dion loosed his arrow as the shaft joined hundreds of others. He struck the bearded warrior in the throat, blood gushing out of his mouth as he fell. Arrows plunged into the first wave of warriors before they had a chance to climb the beach, slaughtering them in numbers.

‘Again! Draw!’ Amos roared. ‘Fire!’

Dion loosed another arrow, sending a shaft into a grizzled soldier who tried to raise his shield but wasn’t quick enough for the point that struck his cheek. Another wave of soldiers pouring from the warship’s side went down, but they were joined by still more of their comrades. The Ileans in the shallow water formed a line, their shields held high to allow more of their fellows to group behind them.

Now fewer shafts found their targets. Dion’s next arrow penetrated a wooden shield but failed to strike through to its owner. He reached for yet another as Amos bellowed for his men to fire at will.

At either side of the warship a wall of triangular shields now fanned out, allowing soldier after soldier to emerge under the protection of his countrymen. Swiftly glancing along the line, Dion saw the same situation unfolding at every warship: the Ileans were gathering strength, even under the onslaught of Amos’s archers. Soon they would advance.

‘Forward!’ Amos cried. ‘Shield to shield, spear to spear!’

The Phalesian line moved forward, but Dion saw that it was too thinly spread to maintain a rank two men deep while standing shield to shield. The second rank swiftly became mingled with those in front. There was terrible danger here, he realized. A concerted push would smash through the line, and soon Amos’s men would be facing enemies both in front and behind.