The man looked nervous and before he spoke he rubbed sweat from his forehead. "It was given to me, sir. By his hand, it was."

"Say his name," Brutus whispered.

"Caesar," Caecilius replied. "I am his spy."

Brutus closed his eyes for a moment, feeling danger loom over him. Was this another test from Labienus? The general was easily cunning enough to have thought of it. He could be waiting outside with a century of men to take him for questioning. Surely he would have seen some nervousness in Seneca, some signal that something was wrong?

"Why did you bring it to me?" Brutus asked him. He dropped his hand to his sword pommel, more for the comfort of its touch than any threat. Caecilius saw the motion and seemed to twitch.

"I was sent to report on Pompey's army, sir. Before I left, I found out that you were still loyal. I have seen you many times in the city, but I did not approach in case it put you in danger."

"Why now then?" Brutus said. Games within games, he thought. If the man were truly a spy, why would Julius have lied to him? It made no sense.

"I am leaving Dyrrhachium, sir. Someone must carry a warning to Caesar and I believe I am the only one of his spies left alive. I do not expect to return here and I thought you would want me to take a word from you to him."

"Stay there," Brutus snapped, striding to the flap of the tent and throwing it open. He stood in the light, staring around him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Men scurried everywhere as they prepared to march. Orders were being shouted, but there was no sign of Labienus or Pompey, or any threat to him. He shook his head in confusion and let the flap fall.

If the little man was an assassin, Julius had made a poor choice, Brutus thought. Without warning, he grabbed hold of Caecilius and searched him roughly and thoroughly. The thought crossed his mind that Pompey would appreciate having a spy brought before him, but Brutus crushed the idea even as it formed. The man believed Brutus was playing some elaborate double role. It would not do to have that suspicion brought to Pompey just before he marched. He would be likely to leave Brutus behind.

Something of these thoughts showed in his face and Caecilius flinched before his gaze.

"Sir, if there is no message, I will leave. I have barely enough time as it is, even if I start now."

Brutus examined him closely. The man seemed genuine, but Julius had misled him deliberately and that was a mystery. Unless Pompey was meant to discover him. Under torture, the man would have his knowledge exposed and Brutus would have been finished. He chuckled as he saw he had it at last and walked over to his weapons, picking up the silver-handled dagger and unsheathing its blade.

Caecilius watched his every movement with growing discomfort. "Sir, I should leave. I must carry the warning."

Brutus nodded, walking smoothly toward him. "I understand," he said. In a sharp movement, he grabbed Caecilius by the hair and whipped the knife across his throat, dropping him to the floor. The little spy clawed at the wound in agony.

"But I do not want him warned," Brutus said, wiping the knife between two fingers. There were spots of blood on his armor and he cursed as they formed beads over the oil. It would have to be rubbed clean once more.

Ten miles south of Dyrrhachium, Julius stood on the saddle of his horse, watching the distant column. His cloak snapped and fluttered like a live thing, tugging at the clasp that held it around his neck. Octavian stood with reins in one hand, gripping Julius's ankle with the other. Both men were gritty with dust and hungry from marching all day.

"He's coming straight at us," Julius said. "No word from Caecilius?"

"None. Unless he's in Pompey's camp, he's been left behind by now," Octavian replied. He shifted from one foot to the other in impatience. "What can you see?"

From so far away, Pompey's column was a black smear across the landscape, with tiny figures of outriders like crawling insects.

"I can't tell if he has his entire force in the field. Gods, there are a lot of them," Julius said. "Has our beloved Dictator lost patience with us, do you think?"

"We can lose him after dark," Octavian said.

Julius glanced down at the general holding him in position. "That's not why I came to Greece, lad. I won't have my legions run from Pompey, not after the shame of the men you now command. We have food enough and we are strong again. I would put our veterans against an army twice the size of this one and expect to win."

Julius fell silent as he stared at the numbers ranged against him. He had always known Pompey would eventually leave the safety of the walls around Dyrrhachium, but something had forced him out before they were finished, and once again both armies were close enough to threaten war. Julius pretended a confidence he did not feel. It was true that he had done what he could to sap the morale of the Greek legions. Every one of them would have heard his offers to Pompey, and those who had been caught deserting would have had friends and colleagues. They had seen Dyrrhachium returned whole with the Senate families and Julius knew the act would have struck to the heart of the Greek legions. They were honorable men, living and working far from the intrigues and plotting of Rome. If he could only have had an hour with them to make his case! Everything Julius had done had been to sow doubt amongst their ranks, and he hoped Pompey's ruthlessness would have tested their loyalty even further.

The sight of so many bent on his destruction should have been frightening, but Julius felt a slow anger grow. Pompey was arrogant with such a following, but those who marched with him were not his men. They were soldiers of Rome, doing their duty as they saw it. The veteran legions from Gaul belonged to Julius alone.

Julius looked over his shoulder at the ranks he had sent marching farther south. He could catch them on horseback easily enough and had stayed behind to make his own judgment of the army they faced. It still awed him to see so many legions in the field. Closer now, the ranks fluttered with flags, and bronze eagles shone in the setting sun. If they had not been enemies, he would have gloried in the sight. In all his experience, he had never seen so many of Rome's warriors and it moved him. The army of the Helvetii had been far larger, but these were legionaries, with the same blood and the same armor. The same history. It would be like fighting brothers, and he knew there could be bitterness for years when they were done. His Tenth would never forgive Romans who had stood against them.

"We can take these," Julius said. Octavian stared upwards and saw a smile twist at the corners of his mouth. "They've seen Pompey humbled at Dyrrhachium. They've seen him waste the chance he had with Labienus. They will not want to die for such a man, Octavian, and that will weaken them."

He watched the column approach, knowing he would have to move soon or fall into the range of their scouts.

"Come to me," he said, almost too softly for Octavian to understand. Both of them could hear the closest riders sound their tinny horns as they sighted them.

"We should go," Octavian said.

Julius did not move and Octavian watched nervously as the scouts kicked their horses into a gallop and began to converge on their position.

"Sir, we should go now."

"They have the numbers, Octavian," Julius said. "Just matching their front line will leave us thin on the ground, but this is why we came. This is why we crossed the Rubicon. We have nowhere else to go, General. Find me a place to stand and we'll break them."

To Octavian's relief, Julius lowered himself into his saddle and took the reins once more. Octavian leapt onto the back of his own gelding and they galloped clear of the approaching scouts, racing long shadows beneath them. A few of Pompey's riders stayed on their trail for a mile before wheeling back, their horns sounding mournful regret as they faded behind.