The praetorium tent was an enormous leather construction near the northern gate of the camp. Reinforced with beams and taut with ropes, it was as solid as a stone building and proof against rain or gale. The whole area was well lit with oil torches partially shielded by a lattice of iron. Their flames streamed out with the wind, casting odd shadows as Labienus reached his men and had them halt outside. He gave the password of the day to the outer guards and ducked inside, finding Pompey in discussion with a dozen of his officers. The tent was simply furnished, with one long table and an ornate oak chair for Pompey. Benches rested against the walls for meetings and it had a spartan air of which Labienus approved. More important, the tent was far warmer than the outside. Braziers glowed on the packed earth, making the air thick and sluggish with heat. Labienus felt sweat break out on his skin at the sudden change.

"You've brought them here?" Pompey asked. His hand crept toward his stomach as he spoke.

"I've stripped and searched them, sir. With your permission, I will have my men bring them in."

Pompey gestured to the maps that lay across a heavy table and one of the officers quickly gathered them into neat scrolls. When there was nothing important visible, he seated himself carefully, twitching his toga into perfect folds over his legs.

The three centurions held themselves well as they came into Pompey's presence. Even dressed as they were, their short-cropped hair and scarred arms marked them immediately for what they were. The escort kept their weapons bared as they took positions around the walls of the tent and left the three men facing Pompey. Labienus found himself breathing more heavily as he waited, his hunger forgotten.

"So tell me what Caesar has to say that is so important as to risk your lives," Pompey said.

In the silence, only the crackle of the braziers could be heard.

The centurion who had spoken before took a step forward and, as one, the guards in the tent went from stillness to a knife edge of danger. He glanced around at them and raised his eyes for a moment as if he was amused by their stance.

"My name is Decimus, sir. Centurion of the Tenth legion. We have met once before, in Ariminum."

"I remember you," Pompey said. "At the meeting with Crassus. You were there when Caesar brought gold back from Gaul."

"I was, sir. Consul Caesar preferred to send a man you would recognize to show his good faith."

Despite the neutral tone, Pompey colored with anger immediately. "Do not use a false title in my presence, Decimus. The man you follow does not have the right to claim consul in front of me."

"He was elected by the voting centuries, sir, in accordance with the most ancient traditions. He claims his authority and rights as given him by the citizens of Rome."

Labienus frowned, wondering what Decimus could hope to achieve by antagonizing Pompey so early in the meeting. He could not escape the worrying thought that the words were intended for the other men there, who could be counted upon to discuss them with friends and colleagues. As if he shared the suspicion, Pompey glanced around the men in the tent, his eyes narrowing.

"As Dictator, even false consuls are answerable to my orders, Decimus, but I suspect you are not here to argue that point."

"No, sir. I have been ordered here to request that soldiers loyal to Rome leave this camp and either quit the field or join Caesar's legions against you."

There was immediate uproar. Pompey rose from his seat and at his signal all three men were hammered to their knees by the guards closest to them. None of them made a sound. Pompey controlled himself with difficulty.

"Your master is insolent, Decimus. There are no traitors here."

Decimus looked a little dazed from a blow to the back of his head. He raised a hand to rub where he had been struck and then thought better of the action. The guards around him were eager to cut him down at any provocation.

"In that case, I have his authority to offer peace, sir. For the good of Rome, he asks that you listen."

Pompey remembered his dignity with difficulty. He raised his hand in preparation for ordering the deaths of the centurions, and Decimus watched its movement, his eyes glittering in the light of the torches.

"Be warned, Decimus," Pompey said at last. "I will not be rebuked in my own camp. Choose your words carefully or you will be killed."

Decimus nodded. "Caesar wishes it to be known that he serves Rome above his own safety or ambition. He does not wish to see her armies broken against each other and so leave the city poorly defended for a generation. He offers peace, if certain conditions are met."

Pompey clenched the fist he held up and one of the men with Decimus flinched slightly, expecting to feel cold iron in his back at any moment. Decimus did not respond to the threat, and as Pompey held his gaze they all heard voices raised outside the tent.

An instant later, Cicero entered with two other senators, sweeping into the warmth with crystals of ice on their cloaks. They were pale with the cold, but Cicero took in the scene before him immediately. He bowed to Pompey.

"General, I have come to represent the Senate at this meeting."

Pompey glowered at the old man, unable to dismiss him while the three centurions watched.

"You are welcome, Cicero. Labienus, draw up a bench for the senators, that they may witness the impertinence of Caesar."

The senators settled themselves and Decimus raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "Should I repeat myself, General?" he said.

His calm was unnatural for a man with sharp iron at his neck, and Labienus wondered if he had chewed one of the roots that were said to dull fear. Pompey resumed his seat and his long fingers fussed with the lines of his toga while he thought.

"Caesar has offered peace," he said to Cicero. "I suspect it is yet another attempt to sow discord amongst our men."

Decimus bowed his head for a moment and took a deep breath. "My master claims the rights granted him by the people of Rome in lawful election. With those rights, he accepts the responsibility to avoid a war if it is possible. He fears that a conflict between us would leave Greece stripped and Rome undefended. He thinks first of Rome."

Cicero leaned forward like an old hawk. "But there is a sting to be borne, yes? I would not expect Caesar to brave our fleet to reach Greece and then meekly give up his ambition."

Decimus smiled. "No, Senator. He looks for a peaceful resolution only because he would not see Rome weakened."

"What does he offer?" Cicero said.

Pompey flushed at the old man's interruptions, but pride prevented him from showing his anger in front of his most senior officers.

As if he sensed Pompey's discomfort, Decimus turned away from Cicero and addressed Pompey directly. "Caesar offers a truce between the two armies. No man will be punished or held responsible for his officers at this time."

He took another deep breath and Labienus tensed, sensing the strain Decimus was under.

"He asks only that Pompey take a small honor guard and leave Greece, perhaps to peaceful allies. His army will return to their posts and no harm will come to them for taking arms against the lawfully elected consul of Rome."

Pompey rose once again, standing over the kneeling men. His voice was choked with fury. "Does your master think I would accept a peace under those terms? I would rather be ashes than take my life at his generosity!"

Labienus looked around at the other men in the tent. He was bitter with regret and knew he should have had the men killed before they could reach Pompey. Who could tell what damage the offer might achieve by the time it had spread to the lowest ranks?

"I will let him know your response, General," Decimus said.