Labienus cast a concerned glance at the thick woodland that gripped the earth in patches all around them. Even in winter, the branches formed an impenetrable mass and it would be difficult to stay in contact on that terrain.

“It will be dark in only a few hours, sir,” he said.

“Do the best you can with the daylight left to us,” Pompey snapped. “I want them to feel us breathing down their necks as night comes. Let them fear what we will do when they can no longer see us. Tomorrow will be long enough to kill them all.”

Labienus saluted and rode clear to give the orders. The legionaries who had already begun to huddle together in expectation of a meal were called to their feet by centurions. Labienus chose not to hear the muttered complaints of the rank and file as he rode through to pass the word to the officers. Soldiers loved to criticize the hardship of their lives, he knew, but these were experienced men and it was almost out of habit rather than any real feeling. From the beginning, they had known a winter campaign would be a test of their fitness and endurance. He did not expect them to fail.

As the great column began to move, Brutus rode back past the lines of scouts, his silver armor drawing the eye of Pompey’s officers. He was flushed with some emotion and rode with effortless skill. Pompey saw him approach and his expression became subtly tauter, his mouth a pale line in the tanned skin.

Brutus drew up beside Pompey’s horse, saluting quickly. “Sir, my men are ready to attack. With your order, I will let them loose.”

“Return to your position, General,” Pompey replied, wincing as his stomach spasmed. “I will not send a charge over ground he has had time to prepare.”

Brutus showed no reaction to the dismissal. “He’s moving now, sir, and that is a mistake. He hasn’t had time to trap the whole area.” Pompey’s expression did not change and Brutus spoke more urgently. “He knows us both, sir. He will expect us to wait and judge his plans before we strike. If we go in now, we can wound them before it gets dark. By the time we must withdraw, we will have raised morale with a victory and damaged his confidence.”

When Brutus finished, Pompey made a small gesture with his hand on the reins. Labienus took the cue, riding up to Brutus’s right side.

“You have your orders, General,” he said.

Brutus glanced at him and for an instant Labienus stiffened at what he saw there. Then Brutus saluted once more and rode back to the front ranks.

Pompey drummed his fingers on the high pommel of his saddle, a sign of the tension Brutus had created. Labienus did not break the silence of the march, allowing Pompey the privacy of his own thoughts.