“Centuries 1, 2, and 3 refuse the right flank.” I snapped out the order and the men immediately responded, turning perpendicular to the original line to form a front facing the new threat to our flank, with our own cavalry force blocking the Pompeians from attacking us to allow the Centuries to array themselves.
It was a desperate, stopgap measure since it was a simple matter for the commander of the enemy forces to feed more horsemen to our side of the formation to keep extending their own line, but I had bought us some time. Even as we were dealing with our own threat, the youngsters of the other Legions were getting themselves into trouble, prompted by their Centurions, who gave in to their desire to inflict punishment on the Numidian skirmishers. First one, then another Cohort would suddenly charge forward after sustaining a barrage of missiles, intent on catching the lightly armed enemy to exact vengeance. This was obviously part of the enemy commander’s plan, for the moment one of our Cohorts ran forward to try and catch the Numidian foot, they were met by a countercharge of enemy cavalry that pinned our men down, forcing them to quickly form square while holding their javelins out to discourage the horsemen from penetrating the formation. At this point, the enemy light infantry dashed around the pinned Cohort flanks, looking for weak spots at which to fling their own missiles, forcing the Cohort to try marching, still in square, back to their place in line. They would be harassed every step of the way by the enemy, at least until the Pompeians came within range of the Cohorts on either side and their javelins. It would have been bad enough if it happened once, but it happened several times, the Pompeians repeating the tactic because our own men kept running after the Numidian foot soldiers. I could not spare much attention to this, since our cavalry screen that was protecting not only my right flank, but the flank of the entire army, was being hard pressed by the Pompeian cavalry. What I could see was that we had precious little time before we were overwhelmed and the enemy would be able to continue its attempt to get around behind us. I had positioned myself at the junction of the main line and that of the three Centuries and looked desperately back to Caesar and the command group, feeling a small sense of relief that he was looking in our direction while issuing orders to a number of aides. It was about then that we learned the identity of the enemy commander that was giving us such fits.
“It’s Labienus!”
The name rippled through the ranks, reaching my ears, and I tore my gaze away from Caesar to see a bareheaded figure wearing the red cloak galloping parallel to our lines, just out of javelin range. As he galloped closer, his face became plainly visible and I recognized the familiar sneer under the great beak of a nose. Following his progress was a roar of noise, men hurling curses and insults, the sound rolling towards me in step with Labienus’ mount. Suddenly, Labienus drew up, his horse rearing, though he skillfully controlled the beast. He had always been a superb horseman, even if he was not in the same league as Caesar. Turning to face the men of the Second Cohort, which was next to the First, I heard him call out. I must admit that it was a queer feeling hearing that familiar voice that had issued so many commands through our time in Gaul.
“What are you doing there, tiro?” he called out to a man in the line and I craned my neck to see who he was talking to, but I could not immediately tell. I just knew that calling one of us a tiro was one of the worst insults one soldier could hurl at another.
Labienus continued his taunting. “You’re quite the brave boy,” he called in that mocking tone that he used so often that I think it was his normal tone of voice. “Have you been made a fool of by that man over there!” He pointed contemptuously in Caesar’s direction. “He’s put you in a pretty tight spot, hasn’t he? I actually feel badly for you and all your little friends.”
“I’m no tiro, Labienus,” a voice called back. I assumed it was the man Labienus was addressing, but I was still unable to identify him. “I’m a veteran of the 10th. You remember us, don’t you? We won you enough victories that you should!”