"I have been well served by you all," he called to them.

He turned his back and as he rode away he heard the order given to begin the advance that would end in a desperate blow against Caesar's soldiers.

The sea was not too far away and there would be ships there to take him clear of Roman lands at last. He would lose himself where Rome had no authority and Julius could search for years without finding him.

Pompey patted the leather bag that was strapped to his saddle, taking comfort from the gold within. He would not be poor when he reached the ports of Egypt. They had healers there who would take away the pain at last.

The Tenth and Fourth launched their spears less than thirty feet from the charging line. The heavy shafts destroyed the first horses and hampered those behind as they found the way blocked. The veteran legions moved quickly forward, darting in to gut the milling horses and pull men down from saddles. They had fought cavalry in Gaul and had no fear of the stamping, rearing beasts.

Pompey's riders did not give their lives easily and Julius was staggered at their recklessness. Even when it was hopeless, they fought on with grim despair. He could hardly believe they were the same soldiers he had seen fleeing the plain of Pharsalus.

The field was filled with guttural shouts and the hacking sound of metal cutting flesh. Julius's own riders had moved to flank the single charge and began to batter them on all sides. They trampled purple flowers under the feet of their mounts, spattering the ground with strips of blood until they were numb with killing.

When Pompey's men were reduced to less than a thousand, Julius signaled the cornicens to sound the disengage. His legions stepped back from piles of broken flesh, and in the lull he offered an end to it.

"What does it profit you to fight to the last?" he shouted to them.

One man in the armor of a decurion rode up and saluted, his face grim.

"It is not such a great thing, to die here," Casitas said. "Our honor is restored."

"I grant you all honor, Decurion. Accept my pardon and tell your men to stand down."

Casitas smiled and shook his head. "It is not yours to offer," he said, turning his horse away.

Julius gave him time to reach his companions before he sent the legions in once more. It took a long time to kill them all. When there were no more than a few weary men standing on the red field, he tried for peace a final time and was refused. The last man alive had lost his horse and still raised his sword as he was smashed from his feet.

The legionaries did not cheer the victory. They stood, bloody and panting, like dogs in the sun. The silence stretched across the field and there were many in the ranks who whispered prayers for the men they had faced.

Julius shook his head in awe at what he had witnessed. He barely noticed as the search began for the body of Pompey. When it was not found, Julius looked south, his face thoughtful.

"He did not deserve such loyalty," he said. "Find me a clear spot to make a camp and rest. We will move on tomorrow when we have honored our Roman dead. Make no distinction between them. They were men of the same city."

In three merchant ships, only the two thousand survivors of Julius's beloved Tenth made the final crossing to Alexandria. His extraordinarii had been left behind with the Fourth to wait for transport. He did not know if he could find Pompey there. The land had never been conquered by Rome and all he knew of the customs were memories taught to him as a child. It was Alexander's city, named for him. Though Egypt was another world to Julius, Alexandria was the resting place of the Greek king he had idolized all his life.

The mark he had left on the world had endured for centuries and even the Egyptian kings were descended from one of Alexander's generals, Ptolemy. If Pompey had not fled across the sea to escape him, Julius knew he might well have traveled there just to see the glories he had heard described as a boy. He remembered standing once at a broken statue of the Greek king and wondering if his own life could be used so well. Now he would step onto the soil of Egypt as ruler of the greatest empire in the world. He need not bow his head to any man, or any man's memory.

The thought brought a wave of homesickness as he realized spring would have come in the forum in Rome. The orators would be addressing the crowds, teaching points of philosophy and law for small coins. Julius had spent only a few months in his birthplace in almost twenty years and grown old in her service. He had left his youth on foreign lands and lost more than Rome had ever given him.

What had he gained in comparison to the lives of men he called friends? It was strange to think that he had spent the years so freely. He had earned the right to be first in his city, but he could take no joy in it. Perhaps the path had changed him, but he had expected more.

The main entrance to the port of Alexandria was through a deep-water passage between enclosing arms of rock that made the experienced men frown. The gap through which they sailed was narrow enough to be easily blocked, and Julius could not escape the feeling that the harbor was a natural trap.

As the ships glided under sail toward the docks, the heat seemed to increase and Julius wiped sweat from his brow. The soldiers on deck gestured in amazement at a vast square column of white marble built at the edge of the port. It stood higher than any building in Rome and Julius was touched by nostalgia for the days when he had nothing more to fear than a whipping from his tutors. The Pharos lighthouse had seemed impossibly distant then. He had never expected to pass so close and he craned his neck with the others, lost in wonder. Somewhere in the city lay the greatest library in the world, containing all the works of philosophy and mathematics that had ever been written. It was somehow obscene to bring his killers into such a place of wealth and learning, but soon his vengeance would be over and he would be free to see the lands of gold.

The water was busy with hundreds of other craft carrying the trade of nations. Julius's merchant captains had to work to avoid collision as they approached the spit of land reaching out into the perfect anchorage that had once attracted Alexander.

Julius turned his gaze at last to the city, frowning as distant figures resolved into armed warriors, waiting on the docks. He saw bows and spears held upright. The front ranks carried oval shields, though they wore no armor and only a breechcloth and sandals, leaving their chests bare. It was clear enough that they were not Roman. They could not have been.

At their head stood a tall man in bulky robes that glittered in the sun. The man's gaze could be felt even at a distance and Julius swallowed dryly. Were they there to welcome him or prevent a landing? Julius felt the first prickle of alarm as he saw that the closest soldiers carried drawn swords of bronze, gleaming like gold.

"Let me go first, sir," Octavian murmured at his shoulder. The legionaries of the Tenth had fallen silent as they caught sight of the army on the docks, and they were listening.

"No," Julius replied without turning round. He would not show fear in the face of these strange people. The consul of Rome walked where he chose.

The corvus bridge was lowered with ropes and Julius walked over it. He heard the clatter of iron studs as his men followed and he sensed Octavian close at his side. With deliberate dignity, Julius strode to the man who waited for him.

"My name is Porphiris, courtier to King Ptolemy, thirteenth of that name," the man began, his voice oddly sibilant. "He who is king of Lower and Upper Egypt, who displays the regalia and propitiates the gods. He who is beloved-"

"I am looking for a man of Rome," Julius interrupted, pitching his voice to carry. He ignored the shock and anger in Porphiris's eyes. "I know he came here and I want him brought to me."