The morning had passed with pleasurable swiftness as Pompey watched their formal maneuvers. The cavalry units were particularly impressive and he knew Caesar could not match more than a quarter of their number. Pompey had thrilled to see them gallop the length of the great yard in perfect formation, wheeling at a signal and sending stinging swarms of spears to destroy the practice targets. These were the men who would win Rome back from the usurper. Caesar was just the name of a traitor to them and Pompey had been warmed by the earnest support of their commanders as they gave their oaths of loyalty.

Ten legions had marched across Greece to join the evacuated Senate on the west coast, and he had found them well led, disciplined men with high morale. He basked in their indignation at his having been forced from their home city. There was no political weakness to be found in the legions of Greece: he had given the order and they had come. They were hungry to meet the enemy and Pompey had been amused to find that the reports from Gaul had rankled with these professional soldiers. They relished the chance to destroy the vanity of Caesar’s veterans, feeling it to be unjustified arrogance. They were good men with whom to go to war.

The quality of the Greek forces helped to diminish the constant irritation Pompey faced from the senators and their families. More than once he regretted bringing them at all, despite the weight of law they gave his position. They complained about the water, claiming it loosened their bowels; about the heat; about their accommodation in Dyrrhachium and a thousand other small gripes. Few of them appreciated how little use they were to Pompey now that he was in the field. Instead of giving him a free rein, they sought to influence his decisions and remain a force in an area for which they were poorly suited. Pompey had been tempted to ship them to one of the Greek islands for the duration. Only the fact that such a decision might undermine his authority prevented him giving the order.

Every eye was on him as he kicked his Spanish charger into a gallop and raced toward the target. He felt the warm Greek air whistle past his ears, and the thunder of hooves merged into a drumming vibration that heightened his concentration. The bag of straw sewn into the likeness of a man seemed to grow, and he thought he could see every stitch of the thread that held it together.