The soldiers who had been freed raised their heads in relief. Many of them shook with the power of their deliverance and Julius was satisfied he had made the right choice.

“General Domitius is free of blame and will command the Tenth to show the honor I place in him. General Octavian has asked to be given the new Fourth and I have accepted. Remember that your lives have come from the honor of my Tenth and you carry that honor with you. Do not shame them.”

He swept his gaze over the thousands before him and felt that some of the shame of the previous night had indeed been washed away. He knew now that Pompey had lost his courage. He could be beaten.

Labienus stood still on the training yard at Dyrrhachium. More than two hundred of Caesar’s Third legion were on their knees in the red dust, their hands bound behind them. The wind whipped across the yard, coating them in grit so that they were forced to lower their heads and blink out the stinging grains.

Labienus was still furious with the man who watched the proceedings from the back of a fine Spanish gelding. He knew his duty, however, and he would not hesitate to give the order for the execution to begin. A dozen officers were under guard in another barracks and would be tortured for information. The rest were simply an example to be made.

Labienus glanced at Pompey, waiting for his nod. He could not escape the feeling that the three legions Pompey had assembled hardly needed to see more Roman blood. They had witnessed enough of their own being shed to learn anything new from the process. This was not for them, he thought. This was for Pompey. Perhaps there was a part of the old man who knew what a fool he had been in holding back the extraordinarii the night before. Labienus had sent out his trackers at dawn and they had found no sign of any larger force. Labienus knew the information would seep out and morale would sink even lower.

As Pompey met his eyes, Labienus realized he had been staring and saluted hurriedly to cover his embarrassment. Pompey looked as if the stiff breeze could blow him down and his skin was taut and yellow across his bones. Labienus thought he was dying, but until the Senate revoked his Dictatorship, he had the power of life and death over them all.

Pompey nodded sharply and Labienus turned to the five men who had been chosen for the task. He could see they did not relish it, though he had picked the most brutal killers under his command.

“Begin,” Labienus said.

Four of them walked forward, their knives held ready, but the fifth hesitated.

“Sir, these are Roman. It’s not right.”

“Stand still,” Labienus snapped at him. “Centurion! Come to me!”