Cato glanced towards his friend and found some faint reassurance in the knowledge that Macro could be trusted to inspire the men he led to follow his example. It was vital that the First Cohort did not break under the weight of the enemy attack. Victory depended upon the timing of the decisive manoeuvre. Not just victory, Cato mused, but their very survival and the survival of the province of Egypt. The horizon to Cato’s left was now a bright hazy orange as the sun prepared to make its entrance and announce the birth of another day. For many men on both sides, it would be their last, and Cato felt an icy ripple flow across his scalp, and prayed that it was not a premonition of his own death. The image of Julia momentarily filled his mind and he felt a heated desire for her such as he had not experienced since the last time he touched her flesh.

‘Sir!’ a voice called and Cato turned to see the most junior of the tribunes pointing towards the enemy now less than a quarter of a mile away. ‘They should be in range of the bolt throwers. Should I give the order to let them try a shot, sir?’

Cato was about to reprimand the youth for his presumption, but then saw that he had spoken the truth. One unit of camel riders, armed with javelins, had edged ahead of the rest of the Nubian army and was making for the cavalry on the left of the Roman line. Cato quickly estimated the range and then nodded to the tribune. ‘Very well, have the commander of the battery fire ranging shots before he looses any volleys. No sense in wasting ammunition.’

The tribune saluted and spurred his horse into a gallop as he rode across to the battery commander, an auxiliary centurion whom Cato had chosen to command the bolt throwers on that flank. Shortly afterwards there was a dull crack as a bolt thrower’s arms snapped forward against their restraints. Although full daylight was still some way off, Cato could easily follow the trajectory of the missile as it shot towards the enemy in a shallow arc and then landed with a puff of dust and grit just in front of the leading camels, causing one to stop dead in its tracks. The battery commander bellowed an order to the rest of his crews and they cranked back the torsion arms and placed the iron-tipped shafts into the channel that ran up the central bed of the weapon. When all were ready, the centurion raised his arm and called out. ‘On my word, prepare to shoot!’