I walked over and found Primus Pilus Crastinus, who looked at me and grinned. “Well Pullus, looks like ol’ Pompey has finally pulled his head out of his ass and wants to fight, neh?”
I nodded. “It looks that way, Primus Pilus. Maybe this'll be the last battle.”
Crastinus looked at me, a shocked expression on his weathered face. “By the gods, I hope not! I’m no good at peace, Pullus. If we don’t have any more battles to fight, I’ll go mad.”
I laughed. “I meant the last battle of this war, Primus Pilus. There are always other enemies to fight, like Parthia.”
His lips pulled back in a sneer at the mention of one of Rome’s bitterest enemies. “I would love to get stuck into those pricks.” He spat on the ground to emphasize his point. Then he grinned again. “Besides, I hear they’re richer than we are, that their warriors’ armor is inlaid with gold, not just the officers mind you, but the rankers as well.”
Of course, I had heard the same tales, but I was not as sure that I believed them as Crastinus did. Nevertheless, I was not about to disagree with my Primus Pilus, and I simply said that I had heard the same thing and would not mind finding out. As we were finishing our conversation, the call sounded for the Primi Pili to go to Caesar’s standard, and Crastinus clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Well, let me go find out what we’re going to be doing.”
“A thousand denarii that we’re on the right,” I called out to him, but he just laughed and waved off the bet, knowing that it was as close to a sure thing as could be found in the army. As he moved away, I turned and went back to the Cohort, calling for the rest of my Centurions and Optios, who came trotting up.
“We’re going to be getting orders in a minute, and I’m guessing that we’re going to be shaking out over there.” I pointed out what I thought was the likely spot Caesar would want us to occupy, given the direction that Pompey appeared to be marching. Now that he had moved most of the way down the slope, Pompey ordered his army to execute a wheel maneuver that pivoted his lines so that they were perpendicular to his original line of march, putting the river on his far right. A few moments later, Crastinus came striding back, shouting for all first grades to attend to him, and I trotted over along with the other Pili Priores to receive our orders.
“Good thing I didn’t take that bet, Pullus.” Crastinus grinned at me, pointing out where we were to form up before detailing who would be to our left.
Once we received our orders, we returned to our Cohorts, moving them into their positions a few hundred paces away, but not before having them ground their gear where they were standing. The Second would be in our normal spot on the front line next to the First Cohort, but because of our depleted numbers, in order to present the proper width along the front, we had to reduce the depth of the formation to only four men deep. While doing this, Caesar ordered parts of the turf wall of the camp pulled down to enable the rest of the army still inside the camp to move into position more quickly, rather than trying to squeeze through the front gate. The air was filled with the shouted commands of Centurions hurrying their men into their designated spots. Since we were one of the first to form up, we were left with nothing to do but wait, the hardest thing to do before battle, especially when one is alone with their thoughts. I passed the time trying to count up the number of battles this made for me, but soon gave up the attempt. Glancing at my men, I was filled with pride at seeing them stand quietly, with almost bored expressions, professionals simply waiting to go do their job. Oh, when you looked closely, you could see a telltale tapping of fingers on a shield, or a man would be yawning excessively, but those were the only signs of any nerves among them. I turned and headed toward the front rank; Vibius spotted me and turned to call the men to intente but I waved him off. Moving among them, I began tugging on straps, checking buckles, and testing the edges of their blades, even as I knew I would not find anything to complain about. I exchanged jokes, slapped men on the shoulder and teased them about one thing or another; the good times that make life in the army bearable, the funny times that help pass the long watches of monotony. Then I stepped in front of my old nemesis from back when we were tirones, none other than Achilles himself, Spurius Didius.
“Well, Didius, here we are again,” I said, pulling on his straps.
He grinned at me. “Yes, Pilus Prior. A lot of miles, neh?”
“And a lot of fights.” I laughed, and he laughed too, knowing that I was not talking about the battles we fought against Gauls, Spaniards, and Romans, but our own private wars over the years. I looked him in the eyes and said quietly, “Good luck today, Didius.”
Then I offered him my hand, which he took, his eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Same to you, Pilus Prior,” then withdrew his hand, came to intente and saluted me, a salute I was happy to return.
~ ~ ~ ~
By the time I was finished inspecting the Cohort, the army had formed up in the standard acies triplex, mirroring the formation that Pompey was presenting. Commanding the right wing was Publius Sulla, and while not of the same quality of general as his father the Dictator, he was competent. Once Caesar was satisfied with the disposition of the army, he trotted over on Toes, stopping in front of us to look us over for a moment before speaking.
“Comrades,” he cried, “you all know that I have done everything in my power to avoid this moment. Did I not send envoys to Pompey on several occasions in an attempt to end this peacefully? At every opportunity, I have tried to find some sort of accommodation that would leave both of us with our dignitas intact and preserve peace for the Republic, but Pompey has steadfastly refused these overtures.”
He paused for a moment, scanning the faces looking up at him, resplendent in his gilt armor and scarlet paludamentum. Caesar was still bareheaded, it being his habit to wait to don his helmet until the last moment, and it hung by its strap from his saddle.
“I have also done everything I can to preserve this army, to avoid shedding your blood whenever possible. You are all as sons to me, and when one of you falls, I weep. But now we have no choice. Those men,” he swept his arm in the direction of where Pompey’s command group was gathered behind their formation, “leave us no choice but to fight. Will you fight for me?”
Immediately, he was answered with a roar from every throat as the men raised their javelins, thrusting them into the air before beginning to beat them against the rim of their shields. Caesar sat impassively, listening to this demonstration for a moment before lifting his hand, and we fell silent again.
Turning Toes, he walked him to a spot just in front of Gaius Crastinus and called to him, “What say you, Gaius Crastinus? What are our hopes for victory?”