Two hundred of Pompey’s horsemen galloped across the plain, leaving the noise and blood and death behind until all they could hear were the pounding rhythm of hooves and the snorting breath of their mounts. They were fierce with exhilaration as they chased the beaten enemy. They held their long spatha swords high over their heads and yelled with the pleasure of it. Casitas had risen to the post of decurion without seeing battle in the slow years of his Greece posting. He had not known it would be so exciting and he laughed aloud as he shot across Pharsalus, feeling as if he were flying.

Ahead of them, the extraordinarii of Caesar responded to a single horn and the wild rout changed. The ranks pulled together with the precision of a parade ground and the flying column slowed to wheel as one, turning back toward the battle.

Casitas could not believe what he was seeing. In dawning fear, he realized that the best part of two thousand crack cavalry were coming back in perfect riding order. He looked over his shoulder and considered trying to prevent them rejoining Caesar’s army. One glance at the dark line of enemy horses was enough to know it was a pointless gesture.

“Get back to the lines. We’ll gut them there,” he shouted, heaving his horse around and leading them. He saw his men look nervously over their shoulders as they rode and tried to resist the temptation himself. It was going to be close. Casitas could hear them coming.

The bulk of Pompey’s cavalry seemed to leap from distant figures to a mass of men and horses, churning amidst a cloud of dark dust. Casitas shouted uselessly into the wind to warn them, but his voice went unheard.

Julius bellowed orders to men he could barely see in the dust that cloaked them. His Tenth were fighting in perfect order, closing the holes in their ranks as they were cut out. It was agony to see them so hard-pressed, but Julius could not bring their whole strength to bear on the soldiers around Pompey. Out on the edges, he could see the mass of riders forming up for a charge. He could hear the whinnying of horses through the dust and every nerve and muscle was tight with strain. If they smashed his lines from behind, he knew the battle would be lost and he searched for anything he could use to blunt the attack when it came.

There was nothing. He looked over the lines and saw more of the Tenth die, fighting to the last as he would have expected. The dust would blind the horses, he realized. Even a solid shield wall would be broken as they smashed into them. He shook his head, shivering. The Tenth could not lock shields and defend the main line at the same time. They would be destroyed.

“Sir! To the east!” one of his scouts shouted.