Labienus suspected he had not been sent so far from the city by accident. Perhaps Pompey already doubted his loyalty. He was certainly suspicious enough. The last time Labienus had been admitted into his presence, one of Julius's propaganda sheets had been found circulating and Pompey had raged about the traitors amongst them, promising more and more savage reprisals. Copying the letters had become punishable by death, but still they appeared. Pompey had insisted on reading Caesar's words aloud, spittle and chalk forming a paste at the corners of his mouth. In the days that followed, he had begun sudden inspections of the legions around the city, punishing the slightest error with brutal floggings.

The thought that could never be spoken aloud had become a whisper at last for Labienus. Unless Pompey recovered from whatever plagued him, he could destroy them all. Though it was almost painful to consider, Labienus knew there could come a time when he would have to take control himself.

He thought the Senate would back him, if they could bring themselves to overturn Pompey's authority. The Dictatorship they renewed each year was ending in only a few days. It would either pass without incident, or Pompey would be broken. If Pompey called on the legions without a Senate mandate, Labienus knew he would have to oppose him. It would be chaos. Some would follow Pompey, perhaps more would desert to Caesar. Labienus shuddered, telling himself it was just the cold.

Julius lay flat on the hard earth and felt the chill of it seep into him. Hidden by the darkness more than the undergrowth, he watched the building work for a full hour, noting every detail of the men who toiled on Pompey's walls and forts.

The soldiers who carried wood and bricks were never far from their weapons, he saw. Only the fact that they did not have sentries out for miles showed their feeling of safety. Julius bit his lip as he considered whether it meant a larger force was close enough to answer their horns. He had no way of being sure without going past the line of Pompey's walls, and the plan had already been set. Domitius had taken two thousand men of the Third legion in a wide circle to the north. When Julius fired flaming arrows into the air, they would hammer both sides of the camp at the same time. With the gods' luck, it would be a quick destruction.

Julius wondered suddenly if Brutus was down there amongst his enemies, perhaps anticipating just such an attack. They had mounted night missions in Gaul; would he have warned Pompey? Julius shook his head in a spasm, angry that he was allowing his thoughts to wander. He had seen it happen to others, when foresight tipped over into indecision. He clenched his jaw against the cold and concentrated on seeing only what was real.

In the deep darkness, the sentries seemed to vanish between the lamps that lined the perimeter of the camp. The wall too was lined with them, so that its glittering length stretched away toward Dyrrhachium.

He glanced up to where Venus had risen. He had waited long enough for Domitius to get into position. Slowly, Julius drew the sword at his waist and heard the sibilant whisper as the soldiers of the Third legion did the same around him. To their credit, there was not a single murmur to disturb the silence of the night. He had chosen them in part because they had been Brutus's legion. He knew they needed to be blooded against the enemy more than any other group. They had suffered jeers and humiliation after their general's betrayal and they still burned with the shame of it. This night would go some way to restoring their pride.

"Pass the word for archers," Julius whispered, keeping so low that he could smell the dark earth. He had brought a full hundred of them to attack the camp, and once the fire arrows had flown, they would wreak havoc amongst the enemy.

Julius winced as their flints sparked. Their bodies hid the flashes as they worked, but he still worried that some sharp-eyed sentry would spot the light and sound an alarm. He breathed out in relief when flames flickered at last, passed quickly along the line until a hundred arrows burned.

"Now!" Julius called and the flames shot high into the air. Domitius would see them and come in to shatter the camp.

Julius rose to his feet. "With me," he said, beginning to run down the slope. They followed him.

Domitius crawled through the darkness, pausing only to take a sight of the stars he needed to stay on course. The route he had chosen led him inside the unfinished wall and he was able to use their own lights to judge his progress. There were no sentries within the perimeter and his two thousand were still undiscovered. He prayed they would remain so, knowing that Julius must not attack without him.

He was proud of the trust Julius had placed in his leadership, but it added to the terrible tension he felt as he wormed his way across the dark landscape. Sweat stung his eyes from the physical effort, but he was determined to be in position by the time Julius gave the signal.

He glanced behind him at the men who had come on the attack. Their faces had been blackened with charcoal and they were almost invisible. When they rose to attack the flank of the legion camp, they would seem to come from nowhere. Domitius grunted as a sharp stone scraped along his ribs. He was thirsty, but they had not even brought water with them on this lightning raid. He was thankful not to have to drag a skin or a shield through the undergrowth. Their only encumbrances were swords, and even those caught on roots and made progress harder.

Two of Domitius's forward scouts came crouching back to him. He jumped as they appeared at his shoulder without a sound.

"Sir, there's a river ahead," the closest one whispered into his ear.

Domitius stopped moving. "Deep?" he demanded.

"Looks like it, sir. It's right in our path."

Domitius grimaced. He ordered his men to halt, knowing that time was running out for all of them. Venus was approaching the zenith and Julius would go in knowing Domitius would be there to support him.

Half rising, Domitius ran forward for a hundred paces. He heard the sound of water and saw a strip of moving blackness. Sudden fear touched him.

"How wide is it?"

"I don't know, sir. I went in up to my waist, then came back to warn you," the man replied. "There's a vicious current. I don't know if we can get across it."

Domitius grabbed him, almost throwing him toward the water. "We have to! This is why you are sent ahead. Take a rope across while I bring the men up."

As the scout clambered into the shallows, Domitius ran back to the silent cohorts. It took only moments to bring them to the river and together they waited in the darkness.

Domitius clenched his fists as the minutes stretched with no sign. At intervals, he reached out to touch the rope that had been tied around a fallen tree. It twitched invisibly and he cursed the delay. He should have given the scout some sort of signal to tell them he had reached the other side, he realized. Such tiny details were easy to forget in the heat of the moment, but now he had to suffer the wait. The scout could have drowned, or he could just as easily be making his slow way back to them. He reached for the rope again and swore softly. It was slack and there was no movement.

The enemy camp was visible beyond the far bank. Domitius could see their lamps like gold coins in the dark. He fretted and shivered in the cold.

"Two more into the water here," he ordered at last. "Ten more in each direction to find a fording place. We have to cross this."

As he spoke, he saw bright streaks of fiery arrows leap into the air from the other side of the camp.

"Oh gods, no," he whispered.

Labienus was jerked from his thoughts by screaming. He hesitated only for an instant as he saw a line of black figures appear in the pools of lamplight and slaughter the first of his legionaries.