The little man did not hesitate and Julius realized Pompey had left no orders to stop the pursuit. He had not expected them to cross against his galleys. It gave Julius hope that Pompey might have slowed his pace.

“The Dictator left last night, Consul. Is your business urgent? I can have messengers sent south if you wish.”

Julius blinked in surprise. “No. I am hunting the man. I do not want him warned.”

The quaestor looked confused. In two days, he had seen more foreign soldiers than at any other point in his life. It would be a story for his children that he had spoken with not one but two of the masters of Rome.

“Then I wish you luck in the hunt, Consul,” he said.

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

They sighted Pompey’s riders after four days of hard marching. They had made good time heading south, and when at last the scouts rode in with the news, Julius’s men let out a great cheer. It had been a long chase, but when the horns sounded and they formed ranks for an attack, they were ready to crush the enemy for the last time.

Pompey’s men heard the horns and Julius could only imagine the fear and consternation in their ranks. These were the same extraordinarii who had run at Pharsalus. To find themselves hunted in another country would be a terrible blow. They had been beaten once and Julius did not doubt his men could do it again. It gave him pleasure to outnumber Pompey’s small force, as he had been at Pharsalus. Let them know what it felt like to face so many warriors bent on their destruction.

In the distance, Julius saw the ranks of Roman horsemen wheel, turning to face the threat. It was a hopeless gesture, but he admired their courage. Perhaps they wished to wipe the slate clean for the rout they had suffered before. He saw them kick their mounts into a steady trot back toward the Tenth, and he showed his teeth in anticipation, looking for Pompey’s red cloak amongst them.

Along the ranks of the Tenth and Fourth, the legionaries readied spears. As the thunder of hooves came to them, they lifted their heads, swept up in savagery that was a little like joy.

“Go, sir, please! Let us hold them here,” the decurion, Casitas, shouted to Pompey.

The Dictator sat as if stunned. He had not spoken since the first appalling moment when Roman war horns had sounded behind. It was not a sound he had ever expected to hear again.

As he watched the legions from Pharsalus, Pompey mopped at a dark stain on his lips and considered riding with the last of his armies. It would be a grand gesture perhaps. The poets of Rome would write it into their ballads when they spoke of his life.