The field was filled with guttural shouts and the hacking sound of metal cutting flesh. Julius’s own riders had moved to flank the single charge and began to batter them on all sides. They trampled purple flowers under the feet of their mounts, spattering the ground with strips of blood until they were numb with killing.

When Pompey’s men were reduced to less than a thousand, Julius signaled the cornicens to sound the disengage. His legions stepped back from piles of broken flesh, and in the lull he offered an end to it.

“What does it profit you to fight to the last?” he shouted to them.

One man in the armor of a decurion rode up and saluted, his face grim.

“It is not such a great thing, to die here,” Casitas said. “Our honor is restored.”

“I grant you all honor, Decurion. Accept my pardon and tell your men to stand down.”

Casitas smiled and shook his head. “It is not yours to offer,” he said, turning his horse away.

Julius gave him time to reach his companions before he sent the legions in once more. It took a long time to kill them all. When there were no more than a few weary men standing on the red field, he tried for peace a final time and was refused. The last man alive had lost his horse and still raised his sword as he was smashed from his feet.

The legionaries did not cheer the victory. They stood, bloody and panting, like dogs in the sun. The silence stretched across the field and there were many in the ranks who whispered prayers for the men they had faced.

Julius shook his head in awe at what he had witnessed. He barely noticed as the search began for the body of Pompey. When it was not found, Julius looked south, his face thoughtful.

“He did not deserve such loyalty,” he said. “Find me a clear spot to make a camp and rest. We will move on tomorrow when we have honored our Roman dead. Make no distinction between them. They were men of the same city.”

In three merchant ships, only the two thousand survivors of Julius’s beloved Tenth made the final crossing to Alexandria. His extraordinarii had been left behind with the Fourth to wait for transport. He did not know if he could find Pompey there. The land had never been conquered by Rome and all he knew of the customs were memories taught to him as a child. It was Alexander’s city, named for him. Though Egypt was another world to Julius, Alexandria was the resting place of the Greek king he had idolized all his life.