The viceroy's division was the stronger, but against it were arrayed almost all the Libyan forces. The two sides were equal as to numbers; the prince had no doubt of victory, but he dreaded the immense loss since his opponent was so manful.
Besides, battle has caprices.
Over men who have gone to attack, the leader's influence has ceased, he controls them no longer; Ramses has only a regiment of reserves, and a handful of cavalry. If one of the Egyptian columns is beaten, or if reinforcements come to the foe unexpectedly!
The prince rubbed his forehead at this thought. He felt all the responsibility of a leader. He was like a dice thrower who has staked all he owns, cast his dice, and asks, "How will they come out?"
The Egyptians are a few tens of yards from the Libyan columns. The command, the trumpets, the drums sound hurriedly, and the troops move at a run: one two three! one two three! But on the side of the enemy also a trumpet is heard, two ranks of spears are lowered, drums beat. At a run! New rolls of dust rise, then they unite in one immense cloud. The roar of human voices, the rattle of spears, the biting of scythes, then a shrill groan which is soon lost in one general uproar.
Along the whole line of battle neither men, nor weapons, nor even columns are visible, nothing but a line of yellow, dust stretching along like a giant serpent. The denser cloud signifies places where the columns are struggling; the thinner, where there are breaks in the columns.
After some minutes of satanic uproar the heir sees that the dust on his left wing is bending back very slowly.
"Strengthen the left wing!" shouts Ramses.
One half of the reserve runs to the place pointed out, and disappears in the sand cloud; the left wing straightens itself, the right goes forward slowly always in one direction.
"Strengthen the centre!" cries Ramses.