“They are striking back toward Rome and the scouts say they have more than eighty thousand men on the march. Every slave in the north has gone over to them.”

There was little point in holding back the worrying figures from the generals, with the rebels only a few hundred miles away. Now that the scouts had found them, they would not be allowed to escape. Regardless of numbers, it only remained to choose the best place of attack.

“If they’re coming south, we can either march to meet them or wait for them to reach us,” Pompey continued. “No matter what happens, they cannot pass or we’ll lose Rome. Make no mistake, gentlemen, if they break through our line, Rome will fall and all we love will die, like Carthage before us. We will make a stand here to the last man if need be. Make that clear to your men. There is nowhere to retreat to, no safe haven where we can regroup and strike again. The Republic stands with us alone.”

Lepidus looked as shocked as the others. “Eighty thousand! I have as much confidence as anyone in our soldiers, but . . . the legions in Greece and Spain must be recalled. The Senate didn’t know the size of the threat when they sent us out.”

For once, Pompey bore his outburst without a rebuke. “I have sent messages back to Rome, but we are here now. Even if the borders could be stripped without losing everything we’ve gained in a hundred years, those legions couldn’t reach us in time to make a difference to this battle.”

“But we could mount a fighting retreat until support arrives. Eighty thousand could overwhelm us. We’d be flanked and broken in the first hour of fighting. It’s impossible!”

“Speak like that in front of the men and that’s exactly what will happen,” Pompey barked at the general. “These are not trained soldiers we’re facing, Lepidus. They could have escaped across the mountains in all likelihood, but instead they are after riches and plunder, while our men fight for our home city and the lives of everyone in it. They will break for us. We will stand.”

“The commander at Mutina probably said the same thing,” Lepidus muttered, not quite loudly enough for Pompey to be forced to answer, though he glared at the legate.