“I think Pompey is going to waste us,” Seneca said, almost too quietly for Brutus to hear. As he felt his general’s eyes on him, he shrugged in the saddle. “When I think of how far I’ve come since Corfinium, I would rather we were not slaughtered in the first moments of battle just to test your loyalty.”

Brutus looked away. He had been thinking the same thing and was still struggling to find a solution. Labienus’s Fourth legion marched close behind his cohorts and the orders had been painfully clear. Any creative interpretation would invite a swift destruction from their own rear. Though it would throw Pompey’s initial attack into confusion, Brutus knew Labienus was quite capable of such a ruthless act, and it was all he could do not to look behind to see if the general was watching him. He felt the scrutiny as much as he had in Dyrrhachium and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

“I doubt our beloved leader will order a straight thrust against the enemy,” he said at last. “He knows Julius will be planning and scheming for advantage and Pompey has too much respect to go in at the charge when we meet. Julius—” He caught himself and shook his head angrily. “Caesar will likely have trapped and spiked the ground, dug pits and hidden flanking forces wherever there is cover. Pompey won’t let him have that advantage. Wherever we find them will be a trap, I guarantee it.”

“Then we will be the men who die discovering it,” Seneca said grimly.

Brutus snorted. “There are times when I forget your lack of experience, which is a compliment, by the way. Pompey will take up a position nearby and send out scouts to test the ground. With Labienus to advise him, we won’t be sent in until there’s a sweet wide path for us all to thunder through. I’d stake my life on it, if Labienus hadn’t done so already.” He laughed as Seneca’s spirits visibly improved. “Our legions haven’t charged in like madmen since Hannibal and his bastard elephants, Seneca. We learn from mistakes, while every new enemy is facing us for the first time.”

Seneca’s smile faltered. “Not Caesar, though. He knows Pompey as well as anyone. He knows us.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Brutus said sharply. “He never knew me. And we’ll break him, Seneca.”

He saw Seneca’s grip on the reins was tight enough to make his knuckles white and wondered if the man was a coward. If Renius had been there, he would have snapped something to stiffen the young officer’s courage, but Brutus could not find the words he needed.