The centurion who had spoken before took a step forward and, as one, the guards in the tent went from stillness to a knife edge of danger. He glanced around at them and raised his eyes for a moment as if he was amused by their stance.

“My name is Decimus, sir. Centurion of the Tenth legion. We have met once before, in Ariminum.”

“I remember you,” Pompey said. “At the meeting with Crassus. You were there when Caesar brought gold back from Gaul.”

“I was, sir. Consul Caesar preferred to send a man you would recognize to show his good faith.”

Despite the neutral tone, Pompey colored with anger immediately. “Do not use a false title in my presence, Decimus. The man you follow does not have the right to claim consul in front of me.”

“He was elected by the voting centuries, sir, in accordance with the most ancient traditions. He claims his authority and rights as given him by the citizens of Rome.”

Labienus frowned, wondering what Decimus could hope to achieve by antagonizing Pompey so early in the meeting. He could not escape the worrying thought that the words were intended for the other men there, who could be counted upon to discuss them with friends and colleagues. As if he shared the suspicion, Pompey glanced around the men in the tent, his eyes narrowing.

“As Dictator, even false consuls are answerable to my orders, Decimus, but I suspect you are not here to argue that point.”

“No, sir. I have been ordered here to request that soldiers loyal to Rome leave this camp and either quit the field or join Caesar’s legions against you.”

There was immediate uproar. Pompey rose from his seat and at his signal all three men were hammered to their knees by the guards closest to them. None of them made a sound. Pompey controlled himself with difficulty.

“Your master is insolent, Decimus. There are no traitors here.”

Decimus looked a little dazed from a blow to the back of his head. He raised a hand to rub where he had been struck and then thought better of the action. The guards around him were eager to cut him down at any provocation.

“In that case, I have his authority to offer peace, sir. For the good of Rome, he asks that you listen.”

Pompey remembered his dignity with difficulty. He raised his hand in preparation for ordering the deaths of the centurions, and Decimus watched its movement, his eyes glittering in the light of the torches.

“Be warned, Decimus,” Pompey said at last. “I will not be rebuked in my own camp. Choose your words carefully or you will be killed.”

Decimus nodded. “Caesar wishes it to be known that he serves Rome above his own safety or ambition. He does not wish to see her armies broken against each other and so leave the city poorly defended for a generation. He offers peace, if certain conditions are met.”