A cheer rose up from the Roman ranks and some of the men punched their javelins and swords into the air. It was a pitiful achievement in terms of the scale of the coming battle, Cato realised, but he indulged his men just the same. It was good for their morale, and wounded the enemy’s spirits. But even as the warm flow of satisfaction filled his heart, Cato saw a new, far greater threat. The dust on the flanks of the enemy line was thickening and then he saw the masses of horsemen surging forward, quickening their pace into a trot as they rode towards the cavalry cohorts on each side of the Roman infantry. This would be the first real test of the day, Cato knew. If his men failed to hold back the Nubians then the enemy would be able to surround the legion and the auxiliaries and fall on their rear. In that event, Cato and his men would be cut to pieces. He flicked his reins and gestured to his staff officers to follow him as he rode across the rear of the line towards the commander of the Syrian cavalry cohort on the left flank.

Prefect Herophilus nodded a greeting as his commander rode up.

‘Your men will be in action soon.’ Cato pointed to the dark line of riders approaching, the rumble of their hoofs clearly audible above the ongoing cacophony of Nubian instruments. ‘Are they ready to do their duty?’

It was a rhetorical question, but it gave the prefect the chance to speak up for his men.

‘My boys will be as steady as a rock, sir. You can depend on us.’

‘I know it. If you don’t mind, I will join your command for the present, and see for myself how your men fight.’

Herophilus bowed his head. ‘My pleasure, sir.’

Both officers turned to watch the enemy. Cato struggled to make sense of their numbers due to the dust that engulfed those a short distance behind the leading ranks.

‘There must be thousands of them,’ said one of Herophilus’s decurions.

‘Quiet there!’ the prefect snapped at him.

The enemy closed to within half a mile and Cato heard the clack-clack-clack of the bolt throwers as the crews prepared to shoot up the Nubian cavalry. Some of the auxiliary horsemen, distracted by the spectacle of the enemy force, allowed their mounts to move out of position until Herophilus cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘Keep the bloody line there! Decurions! Take the name of any man who can’t control his horse!’