Pompey looked up at the walls of the city, thankful for the darkness that hid his despair. He had dismissed Labienus with only the barest attempt at civility, furious that they had not reached Dyrrhachium before Caesar was safe to strut inside. The pain in his stomach felt like he was being eaten alive from within. The chalky gruels that had helped in the beginning now seemed almost useless. A soft moan came from his mouth as he kneaded his gut with a fist. He had wiped blood from his lips before coming out and viewed the red specks that stained the white cloth with sick dread. His own body was turning on him and he shoved hard fingers into his flesh as if he could dig the sickness out by force. He could not afford to be ill and he thought the Senate demands had become more strident with the worsening pain. It was as if they scented his weakness and were ready to tear him apart.

Only the stern resistance of his soldiers had kept Cicero and his colleagues from reaching him in his tent. What was there to be gained from another bickering discussion with them? Pompey couldn't bear the thought of having to be polite to those frightened men as they bleated about their precious wives and slaves.

He did not know what Caesar would do with the city. Of course, the stores would disappear into the ravening maw of his legions. Pompey had listened to Labienus's dispassionate appraisal of their own supplies now that Dyrrhachium was closed to them. He thanked his gods that he had found the foresight to shift tons of it before the war started. At least his own men would not starve while Julius grew fat on salt beef and black treacle.

He heard the sound of hooves in the darkness and looked up at the shadowy figure of Labienus approaching. With an effort, Pompey stood straighter to receive him, letting his hand fall. The pain in his stomach seemed to intensify, but he would not show it to his general.

"What is it now?" he snapped as Labienus dismounted.

"A messenger from Caesar, sir. He has come under a flag of truce," Labienus replied.

Both men thought of the three centurions Julius had used before and wondered if this man too would sow discord in the camps.

"Have him brought to me in my tent, Labienus. Inform no one if you value your commission."

Pompey struggled to maintain his impassive expression as a spot writhed in his stomach. Without waiting for a reply, he walked past his guards and seated himself in his tent, ready to hear what Caesar wanted.

He had barely settled when Labienus brought the man into his presence. Sweat broke out on Pompey's brow despite the cold and he mopped at it with a cloth, unaware of the brown stain of old blood.

The messenger was a tall, thin soldier with close-cropped hair and dark eyes that took in every detail of the man he faced. Pompey wondered if his illness would be reported and it took all his strength to ignore the pain he suffered. No sign of it must reach Caesar.

"Well?" he demanded impatiently.

"General. My master wishes you to know that the Senate families are unharmed. He will return them to you at dawn. The city of Dyrrhachium will be yours by noon. He has forbidden looting or damage of any kind."

Pompey saw Labienus blink in surprise. It was unheard of for an army to give up the advantage they had won so easily.

"What does he want?" Pompey said, suspiciously.

"Three days, sir. He offers you the families and the city for the supplies within and three days of truce to get clear. He asks that you accept these terms."

"Labienus," Pompey said, "take him away while I think."

In the moments of precious privacy, Pompey leaned forward, wincing. By the time Labienus returned, he was upright again and his face was bright with sweat.

"Are you ill, sir?" Labienus asked immediately.

"A passing discomfort. Tell me what you think of these terms."

Pompey's mind felt clouded and the pain made it almost impossible to plan. As if he understood, Labienus spoke quickly.

"It seems generous, though once again our men will see Caesar act the role of statesman. They will see the families released and the truce days will be another victory as we are forced to follow his lead." Labienus paused. "If the stakes were not so high, I would attack at dawn, as the gates are opened to release the families."

"They could be killed in such a venture," Pompey snapped.

Labienus nodded. "That is a risk, though I doubt it. Caesar would have been denied the chance to show his generosity to us all. Morale is low in our camps and three more have been caught trying to desert."

"I was not informed!" Pompey said angrily.

Labienus held his gaze for a moment. "You were not available, sir."

Pompey remembered his earlier dismissal and flushed.

"Make it known that any deserters will be killed in front of the rest. I will remind them of their duty with the blood of those men."

"I thought we might question them first, sir, and-"

"No. Kill them at dawn as a lesson to the others." He hesitated, anger struggling against the need to send the man away and tend his pain. "I will grant the truce, Labienus. I have no choice if my Dictatorship is to be renewed. The Senate families must be kept from harm."

"And the city, sir? If we let him go without resistance, he will have the supplies to keep him in the field for three months at least. We must attack when the Senate families are safe."

"And how long do you think it would be before every common soldier knows I broke my word? You see the choice he has left me?" Pompey said.

"This is a chance to end it, sir," Labienus said softly.

Pompey glared at him, wanting him gone. His eyes strayed to a pestle and mortar that contained a little of the gruel from an hour before. He could hardly bear to have Labienus continue a moment longer in his presence. He remembered a time when his oath had made him who he was.

"Get out, General. Caesar has offered a good price for three days of truce. After that, we will be free to take the war to him again. No more now."

Labienus saluted stiffly. "I will tell the messenger what you have ordered, sir," he said.

Alone at last, Pompey called for his physician and closed his eyes against the pain that consumed him.

Julius sighed with pleasure as he finished his meal. Every cart with his legions groaned under the weight of the provisions they had taken from the city. For the first time since coming to Greece, the men were able to eat well. Their new confidence could be seen as they marched, and even the cold did not seem to bite with such ferocity.

In the command tent, his generals were in a jovial mood as they sampled good wine and tore into meat and fresh bread made from Greek grain. The fact that it had come from Pompey's supplies seemed to give it all a special flavor.

Julius looked around at the seven men he had gathered in this place, proud of them all. He knew there would be harder days to come, but why should they not laugh and joke amongst themselves? They had fooled Pompey in the field and then forced him to accept a truce in exchange for a city. That was a move they applauded more than the legionaries, who felt cheated of their usual spoils. Even then, they had such a belief in Julius that the grumbling was muted. As soldiers, they rejoiced in stratagems that humbled their enemy without a major battle.

"If I can drag you away from your trough, gentlemen," Julius said, tapping the table for attention, "the scouts are in and there is news." He put a hand over his mouth to belch and smiled, remembering the long, hard march to take the city. The gods were smiling on his venture and though he warned himself against overconfidence, the latest reports confirmed what he had come to believe. He had their attention.