He waited for the three riders as they were passed through the scout lines into the camp, noting the insignia of the Tenth legion and their centurion’s armor. Julius had sent senior men to speak to Pompey, Labienus observed. They had been forced to walk through the defensive rings with drawn blades at their backs. Labienus watched them with narrowed eyes. At his order, their horses were taken and the three soldiers quickly surrounded.

Labienus walked across the frozen ground toward them. They exchanged a glance as he approached, and their leader spoke first.

“We have come at the order of Gaius Julius Caesar, consul of Rome,” he said. The centurion stood confidently as if he were not ringed with men willing to cut him down at the first sudden move.

“You seem a little blunt for diplomacy, soldier,” Labienus replied. “Speak your message, then. I have a meal waiting.”

The centurion shook his head. “Not to you, Labienus. The message is for Pompey.”

Labienus regarded the men, his face showing nothing of his irritation. He had not missed the fact that his name was known to them and wondered how many spies Caesar had in Greece. He really should have had them killed before they had reached his position, Labienus thought ruefully.

“You may not approach the general with weapons, gentlemen,” he said.

They nodded, and removed swords and daggers, letting them fall at their feet. The wind howled around them and the nearest torches fluttered madly.

“Remove the rest of your clothes and I will have more brought to you.”

The three men looked angry, but they did not resist and were soon shivering and naked. Their skins showed each of them had fought for years, collecting a web of scars. The man who had spoken had a particularly fine collection and Labienus thought Caesar must have excellent healers for him to have survived. They stood without embarrassment and Labienus felt a touch of admiration at how they refused to hunch against the cold. Seeing their arrogance, he considered ordering a more intimate search, but decided against it. Pompey would be wondering about the delay as it was.

Slaves brought rough wool shifts, which the centurions draped over their skins, already turning blue.

Labienus examined their sandals for anything unusual and then shrugged and tossed them back.

“Escort them to camp one—to the command tent,” he said.

He watched their faces closely, but the men were as impassive as the soldiers around them. Labienus knew his meal would have to wait a little longer. He was too curious to find out why Caesar would send valuable men to such a meeting.