The healer’s paste had taken the edge off his discomfort, he thought with relief. As the slaves were dismissed Pompey touched a hand to the pommel of his gladius and raised his head to walk out to the waiting men. He paused on the threshold and took a deep breath. Perhaps it was some calming property of the healer’s paste, or perhaps because he was finally committed to his path, but for the first time in months, he realized he was not afraid of his enemy.

On the third morning of the march south, the scouts came back to Julius’s column, their faces flushed in the race to be first with the news. They described a vast and empty plain just a few miles ahead. Pharsalus.

There were few in the ranks who recognized the name, but those who knew Greece felt the first twinges of excitement. At last, they were coming to a place well suited for battle.

It was somehow fitting that the struggle should be settled as the old Roman generals had fought. On the flat earth of the valley floor, there could be no traps or clever use of land. Only a muddy brown river ran through the southern part of the plain, making a natural boundary. If Pharsalus were the battleground, Julius knew it would come down to speed, tactics, and simple strength. The commanders would face each other across lines of men and their armies would clash and kill until just one earned the right to return to Rome. Scipio Africanus would have approved the choice. Julius made the decision quickly. He would stand at Pharsalus.

The Gaul legions entered the plain two hours later and the column did not pause as they marched across the open land. It was a barren place. Even in the protective shadow of the mountains, the winter had left a black landscape of smooth dry earth and broken boulders, shattered as if they had been thrown by vast forces. It was a relief to have firm ground under their feet, though it was so dry that curling dust shapes screamed across it, vanishing into the distance. The legionaries leaned into the wind and shielded their eyes from grit that rattled against their armor.

The city of Pharsalus lay beyond the sluggish river to the south, too far to be seen. Julius dismissed it from his thoughts. The citizens there would play no part in the battle unless he was forced to retreat and needed their high stone walls. He shook his head as he considered finding fording points on the banks. There would be no retreat.

“Continue the line of march to the far side,” he ordered Domitius over the wind’s howl. “I want a solid camp in the foothills there.”