Labienus produced a bound scroll from beneath his cloak, marked clearly with Pompey’s seal. As he placed it in Brutus’s hands, he spoke again with a glimmer of enjoyment. “For the first meeting of forces, your men will stand in the front rank against the enemy. That is Pompey’s direct order.”

He hesitated, choosing his words with extreme care.

“I am to say that Pompey hopes you will survive that first attack, that he may use your abilities to the full in the latter stages of the war.”

“I’m sure he said exactly that,” Brutus replied coldly.

He wondered if the advice to use his abilities came from within Pompey’s own house. Julia had promised her influence and he had no other voice to speak on his behalf. Pompey was caught between a desire to use an extremely able general and the constant fear that Brutus was a spy for the enemy. Julia’s influence could have been the whisper he needed to gain this small concession.

Labienus watched his reaction with mixed feelings. He found the Gaul general unsettling. In training with the Greek legions, he had shown an understanding of terrain and men that was second to none. At the same time, he was arrogant and occasionally disrespectful to the point of outright insolence. Like Pompey, Labienus was loath to waste a man who had more years of actual battle experience than any other three of Pompey’s generals combined. Such a man could be vital in blunting Caesar’s eventual attack. If only they could trust him.

“I will not take refreshment,” Labienus said, as if any had been offered. “The fortifications are far from complete.”

Brutus raised his eyes at the mention of an area of policy he had not been able to influence. At Pompey’s order, vast stretches of walls and hill forts had been begun, stretching for miles around Dyrrhachium. They may have made the old man feel secure, but Brutus had scorned the very idea. As nothing else could, it showed that Pompey held Julius in too much respect as a commander, and preparing defensive positions before the enemy had even arrived did not inspire the men. Worse, Brutus thought it sapped at their courage to know that there were safe positions if they retreated.

“Let us hope it does not come to that, Labienus,” he said, more curtly than he had intended. “When Caesar comes, we may be able to break his forces without hiding from them.”

Labienus’s cold eyes went hard at the implication, unsure whether he should react to the perceived insult or not. In the end, he shrugged. “As you say,” he replied. He signaled to a personal guard of a century to fall out and escort him back to the city. The rest stood impassively by the river, shivering in the wind.