The Legion

'Bloody hell,' Junius exclaimed bitterly. 'What do they think they're doing? The cowardly dogs!'

Cato nodded. Only a handful of the Nubians stood their ground and were quickly cut down by the mounted auxiliaries. The suddenness of their victory went to the heads of some of the Roman horsemen and they set off in pursuit before their officers could stop them. However, most began to trot back to form up on their standards, and they turned to form a line across the rear of the mass of Nubian infantry still attempting to overwhelm the centre of the Roman line.

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.'

Some of the Nubians tried to surrender, throwing down their weapons and holding out their empty hands as they pleaded for their lives in their tongue. To no avail. They died alongside their comrades who fought on, hampered by the stifling press of men, which made it impossible for them to wield their weapons effectively.

For more than an hour it continued as the Roman cordon closed round those still trapped, Prince Talmis amongst them. The auxiliary cavalry had blocked their retreat and speared those who tried to get past them. Occasionally small groups of fugitives did manage to thrust past the horsemen, but the survivors were allowed to escape and the landscape to the south was dotted with figures running for their lives. As midday approached, the killing began to slacken as the Romans became too weary to continue the slaughter. Some of the Nubians took advantage of this and slipped between men who made no effort to stop them. Cato rode forward and his horse had to pick its way carefully over the bodies as it crossed the killing ground.

'Stand to! Centurions, call your men to their standards!'

He saw Macro, spattered and smeared with crimson, leaning on his shield, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. 'Centurion! Let the enemy pass. All except the Prince and his bodyguard. And the gladiators. They mustn't escape. Understand?'

Macro nodded, blinking away the sweat that dripped from his eyebrows. He pulled himself up and lifted his shield as he turned to address his men. 'Form ranks!'

The men of the First Cohort wearily trudged back to their standards and waited for orders. Cato felt a bitter weight in his heart as he saw that less than half of the men remained. The reserve cohort that had rushed to fill the gap had suffered a similar proportion of casualties. Macro waited until the last of his men was in position and then ordered them to advance on the standard of Prince Talmis. Cato's horse shied at the mounds of bodies that lay in his path and he dismounted and made his way to Macro's side.

'Well, the plan worked.' Macro smiled wearily. 'Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be grateful to Hannibal.'

'It's not quite over yet.' Cato nodded towards the knot of bodyguards gathered around the Prince's standard.

Macro shrugged. 'They're finished, one way or another. Surrender or die, Talmis is ours.'

The Romans opened their ranks to let the last of the lightly armed Nubians and Arabs flee, and then closed in around the bodyguards. They were big men, with scale armour and conical helmets. They carried oval shields and heavy spears and stood shoulder to shoulder as the Romans advanced on them.

Cato raised his arm as they came within twenty paces of the standard. 'Halt!'

His men shuffled to a stop, watching the enemy warily. Cato stepped forward and cleared his throat. 'Does Prince Talmis still live?'

'He does.' An imposing figure edged his way into the front line of the bodyguards. Talmis wore a black cuirass over black robes and his helmet and shoulders were covered with the hide of lion. His expression was cold and bitter as he stared out over the bodies heaped across the battlefield. The Prince's eyes fixed on Cato. 'What do you want with me, Legate? My surrender?'

'Yes.'

'So that I can be displayed in Rome, no doubt, as a prize of your Emperor.'

'That is for the Emperor to decide,' Cato responded. 'My offer to you is simple. You and your men surrender, or I will be forced to have you cut down where you stand.'

'I don't think I will surrender,' Talmis said slowly, and his dark lips twisted into a calculating smile. 'You will let me return to Nubia freely, Legate.'

Cato's brow furrowed. 'And why would I do that?'

'Because I have what you want. I have Ajax. I'll give you to him, in exchange for free passage back across the frontier to Nubia.'

Cato felt his heart quicken. 'Ajax is here? With you?'

'No. I have been keeping him safe while I decided what to do with a man who had failed to serve me well. His life for mine. That is the offer.'

Cato turned to Macro and for a moment there was a tense silence as their eyes met. Macro swallowed but managed to contain any display of feeling that might influence his friend's decision. There would be no question of avoiding the anger of the imperial palace if the Prince was allowed to walk free. And yet the Nubians had been crushed. It would be many years before they dared to defy Rome again. Ajax, on the other hand, would present a far more immediate threat to the Empire if he were allowed to escape from Egypt. He had already stirred up one rebellion that had nearly brought Rome to its knees. Who knew what else the gladiator was capable of? Besides, Ajax was the reason why they were here in the province in the first place. It was the search for Ajax that had consumed their lives for months now. There was an unanswerable need to finish the business that had tormented them both since the rebellion on Crete. Cato turned back to the Nubian Prince.