Alexandria, winter 48 BC 'Get a move on, damn you,' cried the optio, swiping the flat of his blade at the nearest legionaries' backs. 'Caesar needs us!'

His squad of ten men needed little encouragement. Their night picket was positioned on the Heptastadion, the narrow, man-made causeway that ran from the docks to a long, thin island, separating the harbour into two parts. With water on both sides, it was an isolated position. Given what was happening, that was not a healthy place to be.

The yellow glow from the Pharos, the city's huge lighthouse, had been greatly augmented by the burning ships along the quay. Started by Caesar's men, the fire on the vessels had spread fast, reaching out to the nearby warehouses and library buildings to form a conflagration that lit up the scene as bright as day. After regrouping with their comrades who had been driven back into the darkened side streets, thousands of Egyptian troops were re-emerging to slam into Caesar's lines. These were less than a hundred paces away from the Heptastadion, the natural point to hold against an enemy.

Romulus and Tarquinius ran willingly alongside the legionaries. If the screaming mass of Egyptian soldiers broke through their lines, they would all be killed. Even if the Egyptians didn't succeed initially, the odds of surviving were poor. The legionaries were vastly outnumbered, and had no secure avenue of retreat. The whole city was swarming with unfriendly natives, and the causeway led to an island from which there was no escape. There were only the Roman ships, but thanks to the swarming enemy troops, embarking safely was not possible.

Grimacing, Romulus threw a longing glance at the one trireme which had got away. It was nearing the western harbour entrance, with Fabiola, his twin sister, on board. After nigh on nine years of separation, they had glimpsed each other a few moments previously.