As he came to rest at last and brought his sword up to the legionary's first position, he considered the irony of his new role. He had only ever fought under Julius's command and he found Pompey merely competent in comparison. The man was a solid general, but he lacked the fire of innovation that Julius could bring to the direst situation. Brutus had seen Julius standing with arrows thumping into the ground around him as he turned a battle lost into a triumph. Though it did not sit easily with his pride, there were times when Brutus could admit he had learned more from Julius than he ever would from Pompey.

The silence of the night was broken as the soldiers around him woke and began to wash and dress. The temporary barracks had been sited near a stream that had its beginning above the snowline of distant mountains, and Brutus could hear the men swear at the cold as they bathed. He reached under the cloth at his groin and scratched himself idly. There was a bathing room nearby, with a fire to heat buckets of water, but it had become a point of pride for the men that their officers dared the icy river with them. He smiled at the thought of the transformation he had wrought in the road guards. Even Labienus had complimented him in his stiff way. Seneca's cohorts would hardly recognize the untrained soldiers they had been, after the months of drill and maneuvers. Brutus had undertaken their instruction with deliberate thoroughness, knowing that only their skill would keep him alive when Julius came to Greece.

He left his set of silver armor in the room, preferring a simple set of leather and iron with long woolen bracae to protect his legs from the cold. A call brought a slave to carry them and Brutus went out into the pale morning sun.

The city of Dyrrhachium was wreathed in mist in the distance, with the gray sea shining at its westernmost point. Brutus tilted his head in ironic appreciation of Labienus, somewhere within that place. He did not doubt that his orders to train away from the city came from the subtlety of the general, solving his problem by removing the man who caused them.

As he strolled to the river's edge, Brutus saw Seneca had risen before him and was standing naked on the bank, rubbing himself vigorously to revive his frozen flesh. The young officer grinned at Brutus, but then both men became still as they sighted movement near the city and peered into the distance.

"Now who could be joining us out here?" Brutus said to himself. The smudge of moving men was too far away to see details, and Brutus resigned himself to a quick plunge and scrub so as to be ready to receive them.

Seneca was already pulling on his clothing and tying laces and straps that gleamed with oil. As Brutus waded gasping into the water, the alarm was being given around the camp and the wooden buildings clattered with the noise of men gathering weapons.

Brutus bore the cold in tense silence as he ducked under the surface, though it numbed him in moments. He panted sharply as he came out and accepted a blanket to towel himself dry.

"I'm not due to report for another three days," he told Seneca as he pulled on his bracae and the wool sheaths that protected his feet from the worst cold. He did not voice his fear that Pompey had discovered his meetings with Julia. He was certain she would not have betrayed him, but Labienus could have had spies watching her as well, men he had not seen. He shook his head. Why send a column out to take him when he could be ambushed during his report?

Brutus and Seneca watched the soldiers from Dyrrhachium approach and both of them searched their consciences for some transgression, exchanging only a single baffled glance. The cohorts they commanded lined up in perfect order and Brutus took pride in their bearing. The days were gone when they could answer only a few horn calls in a battle line. They were as disciplined and hard as he could make them.

At the head of the approaching men, Brutus recognized Labienus himself, riding a black horse. He could not escape a chill at the sight of the second in command under Pompey coming out to see him personally. It did not bode well and he wished he had brought the silver armor from the barracks.

Labienus reined in only a few feet from the rigid figures that waited for him. Centurions cried the halt and the column stood facing them. Labienus dismounted with his usual care and Brutus noted again the quiet calm of the man that was so different from his own style. Battles won by Labienus were triumphs of discipline and economy. He never wasted men on pointless actions, but still had one of the finest records in Greece. Brutus detested his dry reserve on a personal level, though he could not deny the man understood tactics.

"General Brutus," Labienus said, inclining his head in greeting.

Though the title was still officially used, Labienus's eyes flickered over the tiny force Brutus commanded, apparently aware of the irony. Brutus let the silence stretch until Labienus grew uncomfortable. At last, he greeted Labienus by his own title and the tension receded.

"Pompey has given these men to your command, General," Labienus continued.

Brutus hid his pleasure as he replied, "Your recommendation is valuable, then. You have my thanks," he said.

Labienus flushed slightly. He spoke carefully, as he had always done, knowing that to voice his distrust openly would invite a duel of honor he could not possibly win. "It was not my recommendation, as I am sure you realize. Pompey has other advisers. It seems he has been reminded of your success with extraordinarii in Gaul. After the first battle, you will command these men as a mobile force to shore up weaknesses in the lines as you see fit."

"After the first battle?" Brutus queried, guessing what was coming.

Labienus produced a bound scroll from beneath his cloak, marked clearly with Pompey's seal. As he placed it in Brutus's hands, he spoke again with a glimmer of enjoyment. "For the first meeting of forces, your men will stand in the front rank against the enemy. That is Pompey's direct order."

He hesitated, choosing his words with extreme care.

"I am to say that Pompey hopes you will survive that first attack, that he may use your abilities to the full in the latter stages of the war."

"I'm sure he said exactly that," Brutus replied coldly.

He wondered if the advice to use his abilities came from within Pompey's own house. Julia had promised her influence and he had no other voice to speak on his behalf. Pompey was caught between a desire to use an extremely able general and the constant fear that Brutus was a spy for the enemy. Julia's influence could have been the whisper he needed to gain this small concession.

Labienus watched his reaction with mixed feelings. He found the Gaul general unsettling. In training with the Greek legions, he had shown an understanding of terrain and men that was second to none. At the same time, he was arrogant and occasionally disrespectful to the point of outright insolence. Like Pompey, Labienus was loath to waste a man who had more years of actual battle experience than any other three of Pompey's generals combined. Such a man could be vital in blunting Caesar's eventual attack. If only they could trust him.

"I will not take refreshment," Labienus said, as if any had been offered. "The fortifications are far from complete."

Brutus raised his eyes at the mention of an area of policy he had not been able to influence. At Pompey's order, vast stretches of walls and hill forts had been begun, stretching for miles around Dyrrhachium. They may have made the old man feel secure, but Brutus had scorned the very idea. As nothing else could, it showed that Pompey held Julius in too much respect as a commander, and preparing defensive positions before the enemy had even arrived did not inspire the men. Worse, Brutus thought it sapped at their courage to know that there were safe positions if they retreated.