Julius frowned. "He may, though if he does, he will be helping me. Who would you follow, Domi? A man who stands for law and consul, who frees good Romans, or one who has them killed? Who is the better man to lead Rome?"

Domitius nodded slowly and Julius smiled.

"You see? It will be hard for them to condemn me if I am merciful. It will confound them, Domi. Pompey will not know how to react."

Julius turned to Brutus, his face alight with the old energy.

"But first we must take the road guards and do it without bloodshed. They must be reduced to a level of panic so total that they will not have the chance to fight. Who leads them?"

Brutus frowned, still reeling from the sudden change in Julius's mood. The march south had been overshadowed by doubt and gloom, but in a moment Julius was as he had been in Gaul. It was frightening.

"The scouts saw no legion flags," he said stiffly. "Whoever it is will be a ranking officer."

"Let us hope he is still ambitious," Julius replied. "It will be easier if we can tempt his guards from the town. I'll draw him out with the Tenth and see if he comes. If we can catch them in the fields, they're ours."

All around them, those who could hear were getting to their feet, gathering their kit and readying themselves to move. An air of long-familiar tension stole over them all as they prepared themselves to go back to danger and hardship.

"I will take the Tenth closer to the town, Brutus. You have overall command of the others. We will spin these lads until they're blind and useless. Send your scouts out and this time let them be seen."

"I'd rather be the bait," Brutus said.

Julius blinked for a moment, then shook his head. "Not this time. The extraordinarii will be the links between us. I'll need you back here fast enough if we are attacked."

"What if they sit tight?" Domitius asked, glancing at Brutus's strained expression.

Julius shrugged. "Then we surround them and offer terms. One way or another, I am beginning my run for consul and Rome. Spread the word amongst the men. These are our people, gentlemen. They will be treated with respect."

Ahenobarbus read his orders again. No matter how often he went over the few words from Pompey, nothing appeared that might allow him to attack the rogue legions from Gaul. Yet the reports from his scouts gave him a chance to finally make his name and he was cruelly caught between obedience and a rush of excitement he hadn't felt for years. Pompey would surely forgive him anything if he was able to bring the traitor back to the city in chains.

The men who had been taken from every road post, tollhouse, and fort were gathered under the shadow of Corfinium's walls, waiting for the order to march home. There was no tension amongst their ranks. The scouts had not yet managed to leak their news to the rest of them, though it could not be much longer before they all knew the enemy was closer than anyone had guessed.

Ahenobarbus rubbed his fingers along his bony jaw, easing his thumbs into the creases at the corners of his eyes to relieve the pressure. His guards outnumbered those his scouts had spotted, but the reports had mentioned four legions coming south and the others must surely be close by. At the very worst, it could be an ambush for his men.

Watching them as they formed up did not give him confidence. Many had never seen a more challenging contest than a few drunken farmers. Years of peace while Caesar conquered Gaul had not created the sort of force Ahenobarbus would have chosen for his chance at glory, but sometimes you had to work with what the gods gave you.

For a moment, he was tempted to forget what he had been told and tread the safe path as he had for most of his twenty years as a soldier. He could march out and be in Rome in only three days, leaving his last chance behind him. It was hard to imagine the sneers of younger officers when they heard he had walked away from a force half his size. The other Gaul legions could be miles away and he had sworn an oath to protect his city. Running back to the gates at the first sign of an enemy was not what he had imagined when he joined the army.

"Six thousand men," he whispered to himself, looking back at the lines of soldiers waiting to march. "My legion, at last."

He had not mentioned the thought to anyone else, but as the arrivals came in he had counted them and now walked a little taller with his private pride. In his entire career, he had never had more than a century under his orders, but for a few wonderful days he would be the equal of any one of the generals of Rome.

Ahenobarbus recognized real fear undermining his pride. If he marched into a trap, he would lose everything. Yet if he gave up a perfect opportunity to destroy the man Pompey feared, word would leak out and he'd be followed by whispers for the rest of his life. He couldn't bear the indecision, and now many of the men were watching him, puzzled by the lack of orders.

"Sir? Shall I have the gates opened?" his second in command said at his shoulder.

Ahenobarbus looked into the man's face and felt fresh irritation at the youth and confidence he saw there. The rumors were that Seneca was connected in Rome, and Ahenobarbus could not help but notice the richness of his clothes. He felt old when he looked at Seneca, and the comparison seemed to make his joints ache. It was really too much to be faced with his amused condescension at that moment. No doubt the younger man thought he hid his arrogance, but Ahenobarbus had seen a dozen like him over the years. There was always a glint in the eyes when they were at their most fawning, and you knew you couldn't trust them if their self-interest crossed your own.

Ahenobarbus took a deep breath. He knew he shouldn't be enjoying himself, but making the decision was a real pleasure.

"Have you ever fought, Seneca?" He watched as the young man's face went carefully blank, before the smooth smile returned.

"Not yet, sir, though of course I hope to serve."

Ahenobarbus showed his teeth then. "I thought you would say that, I really did. Today, you get your chance."

Pompey stood alone in the Senate building, listening to nothing but his own memories. At his order, blacksmiths had broken the doors from their hinges to hang awry across the opening. The old light of Rome spilled across motes of fresh-raised dust and he grunted softly as he lowered himself onto a bench.

"Fifty-six years old," he murmured to the empty chamber. "Too old to be going to war again."

There had been moments of weakness and despair, moments when the years sat heavily and his private self ached to be allowed to rest. Perhaps it was time to leave Rome to young wolves like Caesar. After all, the bastard had shown he possessed the most important quality of a Roman leader-the ability to survive. When his thoughts were not colored by anger, Pompey could admire the younger man's career. There had been times when he would not have bet a bronze coin on Julius coming through unscathed.

The crowds loved to hear of his exploits and Pompey hated him for that. It seemed that Julius could not buy a new horse without sending a triumphant letter to be read across the city. The common citizens gathered to hear fresh news, no matter how trivial. They were insatiable and only men like Pompey shook their heads at the lack of dignity. Even the subtlety of Cicero was lost against the excitement of Gaul's battles. What appeal could the Senate offer, when Caesar wrote of storming forts and visiting white cliffs at the edge of the world?

Pompey blew air through his lips in irritation, wishing that Crassus were there to share this final indignation. Between them, they had done more to nurture Caesar's ambition than anyone, and the irony was bitter. Had Pompey not accepted the triumvirate? At the time, it seemed that they all benefited, but with the Gaul legions on their way to Rome, Pompey could only wish he had been wiser when it mattered.