The boats moved in towards the bank, cutting ripples through the calm surface of the Nile. On the bank the Arabs gathered and stood ready to resist the landing. Hundreds had dismounted and stood in bands, armed with round shields and curved swords. Some wore an assortment of conical helmets and scaled vests. Behind them, others sat atop their camels and prepared to shoot their bows, or hurl light javelins.

‘Prepare to receive arrows!’ Macro shouted across to the other boats.

The legionaries presented their shields towards the riverbank and hunched down behind them. Cato and Macro climbed down from the foredeck and took up their own shields and crouched down, peering over the rims as the boats drew closer to the riverbank.

‘Here they come!’ a voice cried out as the first volley of arrows slashed into the air, rising briefly before they seemed to slow fractionally at the top of their arc, then plunge down swiftly towards the line of boats sailing towards the bank. The enemy had held back until the boats were well within range and so none of the arrows fell short. There was a brief whirr before the splintering thud of an arrow striking the foredeck, the clatter as more ricocheted off the curved surface of the legionaries’ shields and the plink of those shafts that missed their targets and plunged into the river. Cato glanced round at the men in the boat. There were no casualties amongst the soldiers. The two crewmen, however, looked terrified. As well they might, Cato thought. They wore simple tunics and lengths of cloth wrapped round their heads, and had no protection from the arrows.

The second wave of missiles shot out across the Nile in a more ragged volley as the more proficient archers notched, aimed and loosed their arrows ahead of their comrades. Then the rain of missiles merged into a continuous stream and the air around Cato was thick with the sound of the lethal iron heads splintering wood and punching into the shields. Some inevitably found their way through the shields, or were deflected by them and struck the men. The cohort’s standard bearer, squatting down in the centre of the boat behind Cato and Macro, let out a sharp cry as a shaft pierced his bicep and he lost his grip of the standard. It began to topple towards the side of the felucca and one of the legionaries, fearful of the shame that would fall upon the cohort if the standard was lost, dropped his shield and grabbed the shaft of the standard just in time to stop it falling over the side.

‘Good lad!’ Macro called out to him. ‘Take over from the signifer.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The legionary raised the standard and then passed his shield across to the wounded signifer before turning his attention back to the enemy.

‘Watch it!’ The man beside Cato pointed towards the bank. ‘Javelins!’