'Once we get the gate open, get stuck in and make as much noise as you can,' Ajax ordered. 'Understood?'

They nodded to him in the gloom and then he made his way over to the narrow stairs leading down into the fort. Emerging from the tower gatehouse, Ajax gestured to Ortorix to help him and they tried to ease the locking bar into its receiver without making any noise. The sentry in the tower straightened up from the rail and turned away from the Nile to gaze down into the fort. He seemed to be staring directly towards the gatehouse and Ajax realised that he was looking for the other man on duty. He cursed himself for not ordering one of his men to take the sentry's place and continue his beat. Too late for that now, he thought bitterly.

'They'll be on to us any moment,' he said softly to the Celt. 'Let's get this bastard opened up.'

They heaved the bar back and grasped the heavy iron rings and pulled the doors inwards. There was a deep groan from the hinges and the sentry in the tower leaned towards them briefly before cupping a hand to his mouth.

'To arms! To arms!' His voice echoed down inside the fort. 'We're under attack!'

Ajax thrust his sword up, angled towards the barrack blocks. 'Get in there! Kill them! Kill them all!'

With a deafening shout the gladiator and his bodyguards charged forward. Behind them in the darkness another cry went up and hundreds of shadows leaped from cover and ran up the slope towards the open gates.

Ajax raced ahead of his men, making for the line of small buildings to the right. Already the defenders were stumbling out into the night, clutching the first weapon that came to hand, a mixture of swords and spears. None wore any armour or helmets, he noted, giving them no edge over their attackers. A shape rushed out of a door directly in front of Ajax so that he cannoned into him. Instinctively he stabbed his blade high into the man's chest as they collided and the soldier fell away with a pained cry as Ajax stumbled over him. He regained his balance just in time to parry the spear thrust aimed at his throat by another auxiliary who had turned at the sound of his comrade's cry. The auxiliary swung the butt of his spear round and punched it towards Ajax, glancing off the side of his head and grazing his scalp. The pain enraged the gladiator and he charged forward, inside the reach of the spear, and caught him by the throat with his left hand, crushing his fingers into the soldier's windpipe. The auxiliary dropped his spear and clawed at Ajax's hand and then he spasmed as the sword blade punched into his guts repeatedly. Thrusting him aside, Ajax glanced round and saw that his bodyguards were cutting down the defenders across the interior of the fort. Caught by surprise, and assaulted by men who were the best trained killers in the Empire, they stood little chance. Then there was a rush of sandalled feet as the Arabs burst into the fort and joined the unequal struggle.

'We yield!' a figure cried out a short distance ahead of Ajax. 'We surrender! Drop your weapons, men!'

Those outside the fight, and just emerging from their quarters, began to throw down their weapons. There was a last ring of blades and a groan and then a pause in the fighting.

'No quarter!' Ajax bellowed. He lurched forward, cutting down a stick-thin veteran. As the mortally wounded auxiliary tumbled to the ground, Ajax lunged at the fort's commander, a squarely built man with thinning hair. The centurion ducked to avoid the strike and snatched up his blade, twisting to strike Ajax as he rushed past. The blow missed and Ajax spun round, braced his feet apart and faced the Roman.

'Die!' he bellowed, and then launched a savage sequence of blows. The centurion parried desperately and then threw up his sword as Ajax made a cut towards his head. At the last moment Ajax switched his angle and the edge of his well-honed blade cut right through the centurion's wrist and on down into his shoulder. The sword clattered to the ground, still in the grip of the hand, and the centurion fell back with a howl of agony. Ajax stood over him, grinning in triumph, then leaned down and slashed open his throat, leaving the man to shake as his blood pumped out of the severed arteries and pattered across the ground beside him.

Ajax looked up and saw that the fort was in their hands. Not one of the Romans was still on his feet and his men stood over the bodies, breathing heavily as the battle rage began to ebb away. Ortorix laughed nervously. 'We did it, lads.' He punched his sword into the night sky and bellowed the war cry of his Gallic forefathers. The others followed suit and then one of them called out Ajax's name and his companions took up the chant. Around them the Arabs bent over the corpses of the Romans, and hurried inside the barrack blocks, searching for loot.

Ajax nodded at his men with satisfaction. 'Good work! Now let's finish the job. Torch the place!'

As the column headed away from the fort, back towards the temple, Ajax paused to view his handiwork. Bright flames licked up from inside the walls, illuminating the small knoll upon which the fort stood, and casting a wavering glow over the fields and palms for a short distance around. The timbers of the signal tower were consumed by a tracery of flames and then there was a soft burst of crackles as the thatched roof caught fire and went up in a fierce but short-lived explosion of light. Moments later one of the tower legs gave way and the structure lurched to one side, then slowly toppled into the heart of the fort with a burst of sparks. The sound of its crash reached Ajax's ears an instant later.

'A fine sight,' Ortorix muttered happily at his side. 'Warms the heart, so it does.'

Ajax could not help smiling at the comment and patted the giant on his shoulder.

'That'll be hard to miss from the other side of the Nile,' said Ortorix.

'Yes. I think we can safely say that we have announced our arrival. Now let's see what the Romans do about it.'

The legate and his senior officers made their way through the camp to the landing stage in front of the temple complex by the light of the torches held by the legate's escort. All around them the men of the Twenty-Second and the cohorts attached to the legion were emerging from their tents, armour and weapons in hand. Those who were the first to dress and fasten their straps hurried to their stations as each unit formed up and waited for orders.

As they made their way up the ramp between the line of Sphinxes, Cato could clearly see the flames leaping up from a distant site, hovering a small distance above the rippling sparkles of the reflection in the Nile.

'Is that the outpost?' he asked Tribune Junius.

'Yes, sir.'

'Tell me what you know about it,' Cato snapped.

Junius looked at him in surprise.

'Look, I've only been here a few days,' Cato explained. 'I haven't had a chance to familiarise myself with the area.'

'Sorry, sir. I don't know much. It's little more than a fort. Garrisoned by a half century of auxiliary troops. It's there to keep an eye on the trade route running along the far bank. Or it was, before the Nubians got here.'

Macro stood on the landing stage and strained his eyes towards the distant fire. 'And how do you know that's the work of the enemy, eh? Could be desert raiders, or perhaps some fool's set the granary alight. Has there been any word from the garrison commander?'

'No, sir.'

'Hmmm.' Macro stroked his lip. 'Still, we can't be sure. If you're wrong, Tribune, then you've sounded the alarm and called the entire army out for nothing. You're not going to be a popular man. Oh, and by the way, you don't call me "sir", even if I am the first spear centurion.'

'Sorry.' Junius looked abashed and Cato decided to come to his rescue.