Domitius clenched his fists as the minutes stretched with no sign. At intervals, he reached out to touch the rope that had been tied around a fallen tree. It twitched invisibly and he cursed the delay. He should have given the scout some sort of signal to tell them he had reached the other side, he realized. Such tiny details were easy to forget in the heat of the moment, but now he had to suffer the wait. The scout could have drowned, or he could just as easily be making his slow way back to them. He reached for the rope again and swore softly. It was slack and there was no movement.

The enemy camp was visible beyond the far bank. Domitius could see their lamps like gold coins in the dark. He fretted and shivered in the cold.

“Two more into the water here,” he ordered at last. “Ten more in each direction to find a fording place. We have to cross this.”

As he spoke, he saw bright streaks of fiery arrows leap into the air from the other side of the camp.

“Oh gods, no,” he whispered.

Labienus was jerked from his thoughts by screaming. He hesitated only for an instant as he saw a line of black figures appear in the pools of lamplight and slaughter the first of his legionaries.

“Horns!” he bellowed. “We are attacked! Sound horns!”

He began to run toward the enemy as the strident notes sounded, knowing he had to take control quickly. Then he halted, skidding, and slowly turned toward the other side of the camp, to the peaceful darkness there. He was reacting as Caesar would hope him to, he realized.

“First Cohort—guard the west.”

He saw men reverse direction at his order and only then did he run to his horse, throwing himself into the saddle. His legion were experienced men and he saw structure in the hurrying figures around him. He heard his centurions call for a defensive line and the beginnings of one form out of the first moments of chaos. He showed his teeth.

“Defend the east!” he bellowed. “Shield line and spears.” He dug in his heels and galloped through the camp toward the sounds of death and iron.

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Julius knew he was in trouble. The legion he faced had wasted very little time before a strong defensive line formed and the counterattack began. Wherever he looked, he could see soldiers rushing toward his position. Whoever commanded them clearly knew his business and Julius could feel the sudden wavering of his men as their charge staggered and slowed.

“Forward, Third!” Julius ordered.