Pompey was ten hours or less behind them and would make better time in the short winter day. Julius passed his reins to a soldier on first watch and lay down on the hard ground. He was asleep moments later.

Octavian smiled with affection as he saw the still, pale features. Careful not to wake him, he took an extra blanket from his saddle and draped it over his general.

Pompey put his hand into the ashes of a watch fire, frowning as he felt the warm hearth. His stomach had revolted at the thought of food and he had eaten nothing since noon the day before. He swallowed bitter acid and winced as it seared his throat.

"Are the trackers in?" he demanded, his voice harsh with anger and pain.

"They are, sir," Labienus replied. "The path leads south and west before curving north toward Dyrrhachium."

He stood stiffly in the wind, ignoring the discomfort of the cold while his thoughts raged within. The men would know very well that Pompey had lost sight of an army of twenty thousand men through his caution. It would not help morale, after coming close enough to see them the day before. They had woken from sleep with the nervous tension that was to be expected before a battle and now there was no enemy to be seen.

"I knew it," Pompey snapped, furious. "As soon as I heard they had gone, I knew it. We should be able to cut that curve and gain an hour on them." He clenched a fist and tapped it on his leg. "If it is Dyrrhachium they're after, there must be spies in the camps," he said, working his mouth.

Labienus stared at the horizon.

"How could they go round us without a single scout marking their movement, Labienus? Tell me that!" Pompey demanded.

Labienus knew as well as he that the proof that it could be done lay in the fact that it had been. By taking a wide route, Caesar had not come closer to Pompey's camp than two miles and it had clearly been enough. Pompey did not seem to require an answer.

"It seems that I must follow," he went on, angrily. "They have had the night to get ahead. Can we catch them?"

Labienus looked at the sun automatically, judging how many hours had been lost. His sour conclusion was that it would be near impossible, but he could not find it in himself to tell Pompey in that mood.

"At our best speed, eating on the march and without sleep, we should hit their rear before they are in the city," he said. "Your new walls may slow them." He paused to choose the right words that would not worry Pompey further. "Even if they reach the city, they will need time to replenish their supplies. We can deny them that."

Labienus was careful to keep any hint of criticism from his voice, though he was privately appalled at the turn of events. Dyrrhachium was a key port on the coast and still the main store for the army in the field. Caesar's legions should not have been allowed to make a strike for it. He knew some of the responsibility lay on his shoulders, but it profited nothing to dwell on past mistakes. The new position was not yet lost.

Pompey glared around him. "Then let us leave this barren place. Everything but food and water must come behind us at the best speed they can manage. The Senate too: they won't stand the pace we will set."

As Labienus saluted, Pompey mounted, his movements stiff with anger. He did not need to say that his family and the families of the Senate were in Dyrrhachium. Once Julius had them as hostages, his position would be immeasurably stronger. Pompey shook his head to clear it of hatred and fear. His stomach seemed to have settled as he made the decision, and he hoped a dose of chalk and milk would keep it docile for the day. His legions began to move around him, but he could no longer take comfort from their numbers.

Julius calculated the distance they had come, wishing he had the map in front of him. They had marched for twelve hours and the men were dragging their feet in the dust. Though they bore it grimly, some of them were staggering along and Julius had finally given the order to close up and rest an arm on the shoulder in front. It made them resemble invalids or refugees rather than legions of Rome, but every mile was one farther from the enemy behind.

"It should be in sight by now, surely?" Octavian said at his side.

Julius stared at him in silence until his younger relative swallowed and looked away. Julius squinted into the distance, searching for the first sign of the city. The sea glimmered silver to the west and that gave him hope that they were close. His eyes felt painful with weariness and he might have closed them as he rode, if the weakness would not have been seen.

Julius remembered marching in the wake of Spartacus's slave army years before, and it was strange to realize there was a huge advantage in being the hunter in such a chase. Something about being followed sapped the will to go on and Julius saw more and more of the heads turn to watch the land behind as they marched. He was on the point of snapping an order to keep their eyes to the front when he saw Domitius was there ahead of him, bellowing out commands as he rode up and down the ranks.

The ground they walked on was stained in places by dark splashes of urine. It was not an easy thing to do whilst marching, but the men were long inured to it. The ones at the back would be walking on damp ground all the way to Dyrrhachium. When they stopped to rest, there was no time to dig a latrine pit, and they had to use whatever foliage they could find to wipe themselves clean. Some of the men carried a cloth that they dampened with water, but the material became slick and foul after the first night and day. A long march was an unpleasant, stinking business for all of them and the cold ate at their strength far worse than a summer's heat.

The day seemed to have lasted forever and although Julius had been irritated with Octavian's comment, he too thought Dyrrhachium should have been in sight by then. The sun was already dropping toward the horizon and the order to snatch another four hours of precious rest would have to come soon.

A warning note sounded from the rear of the column and Julius turned in the saddle, craning to see. In the distance, something glinted amidst a low line of dust. He shook his head in desperation. Just at the moment when he would have called a halt, Pompey had appeared on the horizon. Julius did not know whether to rage at the fact that the gap had been closed, or be thankful his aching, exhausted men had not been told to stop at this most dangerous time. He looked at the stumbling, swaying lines of men and knew they would somehow have to go on.

Two of his far-flung extraordinarii came galloping back to his position and saluted as they turned their mounts.

"What news?" Julius asked, impatient at the slightest delay.

"The city is in sight, sir. Three miles ahead."

Automatically, Julius looked at the sun and back at his column. It would be dark before they reached the walls, but the news would keep the men going, for all that.

"There is a wall before the city, sir, about two miles away. It looks manned."

Julius swore aloud. Pompey had been busy. The thought of having to break through a defensive line while Pompey came racing up behind was almost too much to bear.

"I'll ride forward with you," he said quickly. "I must see this for myself." As he took a tighter grip on the reins, he looked over his shoulder at Octavian. "Tell the men to resume the standard distance between ranks. I will not be shamed in front of the enemy. Increase the pace for the last miles."

He saw Octavian hesitate, not daring to voice his dislike of such an order.

"They will not let me down, General. My Tenth will lead them in."

In the gloom of the fading day, the army of Caesar sent tremors of fear into the hearts of every soldier who stood on the incompleted wall around Dyrrhachium. At the full height of twelve feet and with a few thousand men, they might have had a chance of stopping the Gaul legions, but more than one section was just a few beams across a gap. It would not be nearly enough.