"Perhaps you could explain the urgency to them, sir," he said at last.

Cicero laughed aloud. "Urgency? Pompey has made it plain enough that we are nothing but baggage ourselves. What does he care if baggage take baggage with them?"

In his frustration, Suetonius spoke with less than his usual care. "Perhaps it would be better to have them stay. What use would they be on a battlefield?"

Cicero's silence made him glance round. The orator was coldly angry, his words clipped. "We were to be a government in exile, young man, not held at a distance from every decision. Without us, Pompey has no right to wage war in the name of Rome. No more legitimacy than Caesar and perhaps even less."

He leaned forward and glared from under bushy eyebrows.

"We have endured a year in this place, Suetonius, far from comfort and respect. Our families clamor to be taken home, but we tell them to endure until the lawful order is reestablished. Did you think we would not be a part of the campaign?" He nodded to the bustle in the hall. "You will find men here who understand the most rarefied subtleties of civilization, those ideals most easily broken under a soldier's sandals. Amongst them are writers of law and mathematics, the very ablest of the great families. Minds to have working for you when you face an opponent like Caesar, don't you think?"

Suetonius did not want to be drawn, but he knew if the choice had been his, he would have left the Senate behind without a backward glance. He took a deep breath, unable to meet Cicero's sharp anger.

"Perhaps the decisions would be better left to Pompey now, sir. He is an able general."

Cicero barked a laugh that made Suetonius jump. "There is more to this than sending in the flank! Caesar commands Roman legions. He has assumed authority over a new Senate. You may think of nothing more than the flags and horns, but there will be political decisions to be made before the end, you may count on it. Pompey will need advisers, whether he knows it or not."

"Maybe, maybe," Suetonius said, nodding, trying to placate him.

Cicero was not so easily put off. "Is your contempt so strong that you will not even trouble to argue?" he demanded. "What do you think will happen if Caesar wins? Who will govern then, do you suppose?"

Suetonius stiffened and shook his head. "He cannot win, sir. We have-" He broke off as Cicero snorted.

"My daughters have sharper minds, I swear it. Nothing is certain in battle. The stakes are too high to simply throw armies at each other until there is one man left standing. Rome would be defenseless and our enemies would have nothing to stop them walking into the forum as they pleased. Do you understand that much? There must be a surviving army when all the posturing and bluster is finished." He sighed at Suetonius's blank expression. "What will next year hold for us, or the year after? If the victory is decisive, there is no one else to limit the authority of Pompey when Caesar has fallen. If he chooses to make himself a king, or an emperor, even, to abandon the Republic of his fathers, to launch an invasion of Africa-there will be no one who could dare to refuse. If Caesar is triumphant, the same applies and the world will change regardless. This is a new order, boy, no matter what happens here. When one general falls, there must be stability. That is when we will be needed."

Suetonius remained silent. He thought he could hear fear in Cicero's warnings and he scorned the old man's worries. If Pompey triumphed, Suetonius would know only joy, even if it led to an empire begun on the fields of Greece. Caesar was outnumbered and would soon be hungry. Even to suggest that Pompey might not win was an insult. He could not resist a final barb.

"Perhaps your new order will need younger blood, Senator."

The old man's gaze didn't waver.

"If the time for wisdom and debate has passed, then the gods help us all," he said.

Brutus and Seneca rode together at the head of a host of legions that blackened the countryside of Greece for miles. For once, Seneca was silent and Brutus suspected he was thinking of the orders from Labienus and what they would mean. Though in theory it was an honor to lead the vast army, both men knew the test of loyalty was likely to leave them dead on the field after the first charge.

"At least we don't have to tread through dung like the rest of them," Brutus said, glancing over his shoulder.

Seneca forced a tense smile. The legions were separated from each other by thousands of pack animals and carts, and it was true that those further back would march a path made deeply unpleasant by their passing.

Somewhere ahead of them were the legions that had landed at Oricum, led by a general whose name was almost a byword for victory in the army. Every man there had followed the reports from Gaul, and even with the advantage of numbers, there were few who thought the battles to come would be anything but brutal.

"I think Pompey is going to waste us," Seneca said, almost too quietly for Brutus to hear. As he felt his general's eyes on him, he shrugged in the saddle. "When I think of how far I've come since Corfinium, I would rather we were not slaughtered in the first moments of battle just to test your loyalty."

Brutus looked away. He had been thinking the same thing and was still struggling to find a solution. Labienus's Fourth legion marched close behind his cohorts and the orders had been painfully clear. Any creative interpretation would invite a swift destruction from their own rear. Though it would throw Pompey's initial attack into confusion, Brutus knew Labienus was quite capable of such a ruthless act, and it was all he could do not to look behind to see if the general was watching him. He felt the scrutiny as much as he had in Dyrrhachium and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"I doubt our beloved leader will order a straight thrust against the enemy," he said at last. "He knows Julius will be planning and scheming for advantage and Pompey has too much respect to go in at the charge when we meet. Julius-" He caught himself and shook his head angrily. "Caesar will likely have trapped and spiked the ground, dug pits and hidden flanking forces wherever there is cover. Pompey won't let him have that advantage. Wherever we find them will be a trap, I guarantee it."

"Then we will be the men who die discovering it," Seneca said grimly.

Brutus snorted. "There are times when I forget your lack of experience, which is a compliment, by the way. Pompey will take up a position nearby and send out scouts to test the ground. With Labienus to advise him, we won't be sent in until there's a sweet wide path for us all to thunder through. I'd stake my life on it, if Labienus hadn't done so already." He laughed as Seneca's spirits visibly improved. "Our legions haven't charged in like madmen since Hannibal and his bastard elephants, Seneca. We learn from mistakes, while every new enemy is facing us for the first time."

Seneca's smile faltered. "Not Caesar, though. He knows Pompey as well as anyone. He knows us."

"He doesn't know me," Brutus said sharply. "He never knew me. And we'll break him, Seneca."

He saw Seneca's grip on the reins was tight enough to make his knuckles white and wondered if the man was a coward. If Renius had been there, he would have snapped something to stiffen the young officer's courage, but Brutus could not find the words he needed.

He sighed. "If you want, I can send you back before the first charge. There'll be no shame in it. I can order you to take a message to Pompey." The idea amused him and he went on. "Something like 'Now look what you've done, you old fool.' What do you think?"

Seneca didn't laugh, instead looking at the man who rode so confidently beside him. "No. These are my men. I'll go where they go."