Julius remembered marching in the wake of Spartacus’s slave army years before, and it was strange to realize there was a huge advantage in being the hunter in such a chase. Something about being followed sapped the will to go on and Julius saw more and more of the heads turn to watch the land behind as they marched. He was on the point of snapping an order to keep their eyes to the front when he saw Domitius was there ahead of him, bellowing out commands as he rode up and down the ranks.

The ground they walked on was stained in places by dark splashes of urine. It was not an easy thing to do whilst marching, but the men were long inured to it. The ones at the back would be walking on damp ground all the way to Dyrrhachium. When they stopped to rest, there was no time to dig a latrine pit, and they had to use whatever foliage they could find to wipe themselves clean. Some of the men carried a cloth that they dampened with water, but the material became slick and foul after the first night and day. A long march was an unpleasant, stinking business for all of them and the cold ate at their strength far worse than a summer’s heat.

The day seemed to have lasted forever and although Julius had been irritated with Octavian’s comment, he too thought Dyrrhachium should have been in sight by then. The sun was already dropping toward the horizon and the order to snatch another four hours of precious rest would have to come soon.

A warning note sounded from the rear of the column and Julius turned in the saddle, craning to see. In the distance, something glinted amidst a low line of dust. He shook his head in desperation. Just at the moment when he would have called a halt, Pompey had appeared on the horizon. Julius did not know whether to rage at the fact that the gap had been closed, or be thankful his aching, exhausted men had not been told to stop at this most dangerous time. He looked at the stumbling, swaying lines of men and knew they would somehow have to go on.

Two of his far-flung extraordinarii came galloping back to his position and saluted as they turned their mounts.

“What news?” Julius asked, impatient at the slightest delay.

“The city is in sight, sir. Three miles ahead.”

Automatically, Julius looked at the sun and back at his column. It would be dark before they reached the walls, but the news would keep the men going, for all that.

“There is a wall before the city, sir, about two miles away. It looks manned.”

Julius swore aloud. Pompey had been busy. The thought of having to break through a defensive line while Pompey came racing up behind was almost too much to bear.