Labienus looked around at the other men in the tent. He was bitter with regret and knew he should have had the men killed before they could reach Pompey. Who could tell what damage the offer might achieve by the time it had spread to the lowest ranks?

“I will let him know your response, General,” Decimus said.

Pompey shook his head, his expression hard. “No, you will not,” he said. “Kill them.”

Cicero rose in horror and Decimus too stood up as he heard the order. A legionary stepped toward the centurion and with a sneer Decimus opened his arms to receive the blade.

“You are not fit to lead Rome,” he said to Pompey, gasping as the gladius was shoved hard into his chest.

The pain distorted his features and yet he did not fall, but reached out to the hilt with both hands. Holding Pompey’s gaze, Decimus pulled it further into himself, letting loose an animal cry of rage. As the other two had their throats opened, Decimus collapsed and the sickly smell of blood filled the tent. Some of the men made the hand gesture against evil spirits, and Pompey himself was shaken by the man’s extraordinary courage. He seemed to have shrunk in his chair and he could not tear his gaze from the bodies at his feet.

It was left to Labienus to give orders and he had the dead men removed, the guards following them. He could not believe what he had seen Decimus do, or his complete disregard for his own death. Caesar had chosen wisely in sending such a man, he was forced to acknowledge. Before dawn, every soldier in Pompey’s camp would have heard of the centurion’s words and actions. Above all things, they respected courage. Labienus frowned as he thought how best to handle the spread of information. Could he blunt the force of the tale with a counter rumor? It would be difficult, with so many witnesses. He knew his soldiers. Some of them would indeed wonder if they followed the right man.

As he stepped out into the howling wind and pulled his cloak more tightly around him, he could applaud the use of three lives for such an effect. They faced a ruthless enemy, and when it came he would relish Caesar’s eventual destruction all the more.

He looked away into the distance as he considered his own commander. Labienus had known men who survived for years with ulcers or hernias. He remembered an old tentmate who delighted in showing a shiny lump that stood out from his stomach, even taking coins from those who wanted to force it back in with a finger. Labienus hoped Pompey’s illness was not the source of his weakening spirits. If it was, there could only be worse to come.

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14