“Is it my watch?” Julius said sleepily, sitting up in the dark tent.

“Shhh. Come outside. I want to show you something.”

Vaguely irritated, Julius followed Brutus through the camp, stopping twice to give the watchword of the day to alert sentries. Within striking range of the enemy, the camp was far from quiet. Many of the men who couldn’t sleep sat outside their tents or around small fires taking quietly. Tension and fear tightened their bladders through the night, and Julius and Brutus saw the urine trench was sodden and stinking already as they passed it.

Julius realized Brutus was making straight for the praetorian gate in the north wall of the camp.

“What are you doing?” he hissed to his friend.

“I need you to get us out of the camp. They’ll let a tribune through if you order it.” He whispered his idea and Julius squinted at his friend in the darkness, wondering at the wild energy that seemed such a part of him. He considered refusing and going back to his tent, but the night air had cleared his head and he doubted he would be able to sleep again. He didn’t feel tired. Instead, his muscles trembled with nervous energy, and waiting idle would be worse than anything.

The gate was guarded by a century of extraordinarii, still dusty from their scouting rides. The commander trotted his horse over to them as they approached.

“Yes?” he said bluntly.

“I want to leave the camp for a couple of hours,” Julius replied.

“Orders are no one leaves camp.”

“I am the legate of Primigenia, a tribune of Rome, and the nephew of Marius. Let us pass.”

The centurion wavered in the face of the order. “I should report it, sir. If you leave, you are disobeying Pompey’s direct order.”

Julius glanced at Brutus, silently cursing him for putting him into this position.

“I will clear it with the general when I return. Report as you see fit.”

“He will want to know what you are doing, sir,” the centurion continued, wincing slightly. Julius could admire his loyalty, though he dreaded what Pompey would say if the man carried out his threat to report.

“There is a spike of rock that overlooks the battleground,” he said quietly. “Brutus believes it would give us a view of the enemy force.”

“I know it, sir, but the scouts say it’s too steep to be climbed. It’s practically sheer,” the man replied, rubbing his chin in thought.

“It’s worth a try at least,” Brutus said quickly.

The centurion looked at him for the first time, his expression brooding. “I can delay reporting it until the watch changes in three hours. If you’re not back by then, I’ll have to name you as deserters. I’ll give that much for a nephew of Marius, but that’s it.”