But the tide of the battle had already turned. Those on the flanks, facing the fresh Roman legionaries, were ruthlessly forced back, pressing on their comrades caught in the middle. There was nowhere to escape, and soon no way to move as the fearful Nubians were caught in a vice between the advancing Roman lines. The beating of drums died away and so did the wild ululations and war cries, and as the Romans hacked their way into the Nubians, the first cries of panic and blind terror came from those who were so tightly pressed together that they could barely move and had no way of seeing or understanding the reason for the crush.

As the uncertainty and fear spread to the men still fighting against Macro’s line, the Nubians began to back off, looking over their shoulders until they were out of reach of the swords and spears of the Romans, then turning and trying to force their way back through the trapped multitude. The legionaries and auxiliaries paused, breathing heavily and arms drooping from their exertions.

‘What the fuck are you waiting for?’ Macro’s voice boomed out. ‘Get after them! Kill ’em!’

Without waiting for his men, Macro roared incoherently and charged forward, stabbing and hacking at the men in front of him. The rest of the men saw that victory was at hand, and charged after him, slaughtering the enemy without any mercy or pity. The sand beneath the legionaries’ boots was soon dark with blood and bodies fell so swiftly that the Romans were advancing over them to get at the enemy. The wailing and desperate cries of anguish from the Nubians rose into the hot air as the heat of the sun made itself felt and added to the torment of those still caught in the closing trap. Cato saw that the banner of Prince Talmis still rose above the sea of dark-skinned figures and he could just make out the tight ring of gleaming helmets as the Prince’s bodyguards struggled to extract their master from the massacre.

‘We should offer them terms,’ said Junius and Cato glanced round to see the sickened expression on the tribune’s face. ‘Sir, we should offer them terms. This is a . . . bloodbath.’

Cato could understand his reaction, but there was nothing that could be done to end the slaughter. The Romans were outnumbered. If they paused in their deadly work, they would lose the initiative, and with it the battle. They had no choice but to keep on killing. Cato shook his head. ‘This is war, Tribune. This is the face of battle, and you had best grow used to it.’