“They have surrendered, sir,” he said. “As soon as Pompey left the field. It is over.” He saluted and Julius saw he was trembling with reaction.

Julius sagged in his saddle, leaning forward with his head bowed. After a long moment, he drew himself straight and looked north. He could not let Pompey escape, but the fighting could erupt again at the slightest provocation unless he stayed with his legions. His duty was to remain on the plain and bring order, not to chase a beaten man. He knew it, but he hungered to call his extraordinarii back and ride Pompey down. He shook his head clear of the warring emotions.

“Disarm them all and begin taking the wounded back to Pompey’s camp,” he said. “Bring the generals to me and treat them with courtesy. They did well to surrender, but it will be hurting them. Make sure the men understand there will be no mistreatment. They are not enemies. They will be given every courtesy.”

“Yes, sir,” Octavian said. His voice shook slightly and Julius looked at him, smiling wryly at the worship in the younger man’s bloodshot eyes.

“I will accept a new oath of loyalty from them, as consul of Rome. Tell them the war is over.”

He could hardly believe it himself and he knew the reality would not sink in for hours or days. He had been fighting for as long as he could remember and it had all brought him to the plain of Pharsalus in the middle of Greece. It was enough.

“Sir, I saw Brutus fall,” Octavian said.

Julius broke out of his reverie. “Where?” he snapped, ready to move.

“In the center, sir. He fought with Labienus.”

“Take me there,” Julius replied, urging his horse into a trot. A sick dread settled on him then. His hands shook slightly as he rode, though whether in reaction or fear, he could not have said.

The two riders passed through the lines of men already involved in the routines they knew so well. Piles of captured swords were being formed and water passed to those who had not drunk for hours. When the legions saw their general, cheering began and swelled until they were all shouting in relief and triumph.

Julius barely heard them, his eyes on a limp figure in silver armor being pulled from a pile of corpses. He felt tears sting his eyes as he dismounted. He could not speak. The men of the New Fourth legion stood back respectfully to give him room, and he went down on one knee to look into the face of his oldest friend.

There was blood everywhere and Brutus’s skin was marble white against the stain. Julius took a cloth from his belt and reached out with it, gently wiping away the caked filth.