“Send to General Octavian and have his Fourth move back toward the center,” Julius told the closest scout. “When it begins, he must push forward with all speed.” He looked around him and selected another, little older than a boy. “The extraordinarii are not to advance past the flank. They must hold the position.”

As the man scurried away, Julius fretted, sweating despite the wind. Had he thought of everything? His scorpion bows and heavy engines were being pulled into position by oxen and shouting men, all along the marching mile. Pompey too had assembled his massive weapons and Julius shuddered at the thought of what they could do. Pompey had many more than he had been able to bring to the field. No doubt they would play a part in deciding the battle.

At two thousand feet, both Julius and Pompey ceased looking for an advantage from their formations. The battle lines were set and what followed would be a test of courage and skill that neither man had experienced before. For all the skirmishes and minor battles between them, they had not faced the best of Roman legions on good, dry land. The outcome could not be known.

Julius continued to give orders, as he knew Pompey must be doing. Part of him was almost hypnotized by the ritual moves of the dance as the armies neared each other. It was formal and terrifying and Julius wondered if Pompey would close to the exact distance specified in the manuals before beginning the final charge. His memory flickered back to the dry voices of his tutors telling him that six hundred feet was perfect on good ground. Any more and the men would be flagging before they reached a charging enemy in the middle. Any less and they risked losing the advantage of a crashing first strike. Julius reached up and pulled down the full-face helmet that hid his features. As it clicked shut, the wind became a dull thrumming and sweat trickled down from his hair.

The vast lines were a thousand feet apart and Julius felt the tension in his legions as he walked his horse forward with them. The animal snorted and fought the tight rein he held on it, bowing its head almost back to the neck. His horses and men had been fed and water boys marched with them. The grindstones had been busy all night to put an edge on their swords. He had done everything he could think of to weaken the host he faced.