He sighed. “If you want, I can send you back before the first charge. There’ll be no shame in it. I can order you to take a message to Pompey.” The idea amused him and he went on. “Something like ‘Now look what you’ve done, you old fool.’ What do you think?”

Seneca didn’t laugh, instead looking at the man who rode so confidently beside him. “No. These are my men. I’ll go where they go.”

Brutus reached over between the horses and clapped him on the shoulder. “It has been a pleasure to serve with you, Seneca. Now stop worrying. We’re going to win.”

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Despite the heavy winter cloak that protected him from the worst of the cold, Pompey felt frozen into his armor. The only heat seemed to be in the bitter liquid that roiled and surged in his throat and bowels, making him weak. The fallow fields were littered with ice-split clods and progress was painfully slow. As a young man, he remembered being able to shrug off the worst extremes of campaigning, but now it was all he could do to clench his jaw and prevent his teeth from chattering audibly. Twin plumes of vapor came from his horse’s nostrils and Pompey reached down absentmindedly to pat its neck. His mind was on the army he could see in the distance.

He could not have asked for a better vantage point. Caesar’s legions had stationed themselves forty miles east of Oricum, at the end of a plain surrounded by forests. Pompey’s scouts had reached a crest of rising ground and immediately reported back to the main force, passing Brutus and Seneca without a sideways glance. Pompey had come forward to confirm their sighting and now he watched in suspicious silence.

The biting air was at least clear of mist. Though Caesar’s forces must have been two miles away, they stood out against the scrub grass of the plain. From so far, they looked a pitiful threat, like tiny metallic brooches pinned to the hard ground. They were as still as the patchy forest that covered the hillsides, and Pompey frowned.

“What is he doing?” he muttered from between clenched teeth.

There was a part of him that had felt joy at finding the enemy within reach, but his more natural caution had reasserted itself. Julius would never stake his survival on a simple clash of arms. The plain where he had gathered his army was good land for a charge and Pompey knew his cavalry could smash through the smaller number of extraordinarii Julius had brought to Greece. It was far too tempting and Pompey shook his head.

“How many legions can you count, Labienus?” he said.

“Only six, sir,” Labienus replied immediately. From his sour expression, Pompey could see he shared the same doubts.