The felucca rebounded from the impact and a fresh gust filled the sail, easing it round towards the shore as Cato centred the tiller. There was no chance to help the men of the other boat, nor spare them more than a moment’s thought. No more than thirty feet from the riverbank the crewman released the mainsheet and the triangular sail billowed freely for a moment before it flapped in the light breeze. The momentum of the felucca carried it on and the craft had only lost a little speed when the boat lurched to an abrupt halt in the silt where a strip of reeds ran along the bank. Most of the legionaries had braced themselves but even so a number tumbled into their comrades and a chorus of grunts and curses broke out until Macro bellowed angrily at them.

‘Shut your mouths! Shields up, swords out and follow me!’

He stepped up on to the foredeck, crouching slightly behind his shield, and took a running jump towards the riverbank. He landed with a splash and a brief rustle of trampled reeds. The water came up to his thighs and the silt on the river bed sucked at his boots. Gritting his teeth Macro pressed on, surging through the churned-up water, his shield brushing the reeds aside. He heard more men splashing down behind him, and a quick glance to either side revealed that the rest of the first wave of boats was edging into the reeds to disgorge their legionaries. The air was sweltering in amongst the reeds and Macro’s ears filled with the rush of water and the grunts of his men as they struggled to gain firm ground. Over the rim of his shield he could see the nearest band of Arabs bearing down on them, giving vent to their battle cries as they raised their curved blades and charged down the short, grassy slope towards the Romans.

Macro emerged from the silt and checked his pace. More men rustled free of the reeds on either side, and then a moment later Cato was at his side, breathing heavily and eyes wide beneath the rim of his helmet as he braced his boots and raised the tip of his sword towards the oncoming enemy. The Romans were strung out in a ragged battle line along the riverbank and a moment later the dark-robed Arabs plunged in amongst the legionaries and the air was filled with the clatter and thud of shields striking and the sharp clash of metal as blade met blade.