Inch by inch, then foot by foot, we pushed the Pompeians backward, bashing and smashing, their progress backward marked by bodies of both their fallen and ours, but still they held formation, refusing to break. The sun was now high in the sky, causing both sides to suffer from thirst and exhaustion, but we could not stop putting on the pressure, while they could not stop resisting our advance. Fortunately, while our battle on the right wing was still at something of an impasse, the raw recruits of Pompey’s Legions holding the center were not made of the same stuff as the veterans on the wings, and shortly after the third line engaged with them, their cohesion shattered as they simply turned to run for their lives. The 15th was to our left, next to the Pompeian center, but once they lost the support of the Legions on their right, they too finally broke and fled. Now that the third line was engaged, those of us in the first two lines moved to the rear to catch our breath and I immediately called to my Centurions to give me a tally of casualties. Since we had dropped all of our gear back by the camp, we had also left our water behind, so I ordered some men to go through the bodies of the Pompeians to see if anything could be scavenged. The dust cloud was the most oppressive and obscuring that I had ever seen in battle, making it almost impossible to tell what was going on. However, I could see that the Legions to our immediate left were pushing forward in pursuit of the fleeing Pompeians. If I strained my eyes, I could make out the far left wing where the 8th and 9th was engaged, but could only see that they were roughly in the same position that we were, so it appeared that only the center and the 15th had given way. At that point, that was my total knowledge of the situation, so without thinking, I began to move over to where Crastinus would be with his volunteers to see what his orders were before stopping short. Crastinus was dead; that meant that the Primus Princeps was now in command, a short, squatty little man named Torquatus who had been the Primus Pilus briefly before Crastinus returned, so I went looking for him instead. The men were breathing easier by this point, but I could see that they were close to the edge of exhaustion, yet I knew that we were not through, and I cursed myself for not thinking to make the men bring along their water at the very least. Just before I reached where Torquatus was standing with the rest of his Centurions from the First, through the veil of dust I saw Caesar himself coming, his face covered in dust, except for where rivulets of sweat had streamed down his cheeks. My immediate thought was that he looked like a Narbo whore with her makeup ruined after a hard night’s work, the thought forcing me to bite back a laugh since I did not want my general to ask what was so funny at a time like this.
Stopping where Torquatus was standing, Caesar asked, “Where is the Primus Pilus?”
There was a pause as Torquatus exchanged glances with the other men around him, then said quietly, “Primus Pilus Crastinus is dead, sir. He made good his promise to bring you glory dead or alive.”
Caesar did not respond for a moment; his head bowed, he closed his eyes, and I saw his lips move in what I presumed to be a silent prayer for Crastinus. Then, commander once again, he looked up and said, “Very well. We'll mourn him later, but as of now you're the Primus Pilus and I need you and your men to make one last effort.” He pointed in the direction of Pompey’s camp, and continued, “We have them on the run, except for the 1st here, but the third line has them engaged. I want you to take the remaining Cohorts, circle around, and cut them off, but I don’t think you'll have to engage them. Once they see they're completely isolated, they'll break and run like the rest of them, I’m sure of it. Instead, I need you to push on to the camp. If we stop here, we’ve won a battle. If we take the camp, we’ve won the war. Do you understand, Primus Pilus?”
Torquatus came to intente, saluted, and said crisply, “Perfectly, General. We won't let you down.”
Caesar favored Torquatus and the rest of the men standing there with one of his most dazzling smiles and said, “I know you won’t, Torquatus.”
Then he wheeled Toes around and galloped off towards the center, a string of aides hurrying after him, making the dust cloud even worse for a moment, causing me to cough and spit out a glob of mud, cursing this dusty country as I did.
Walking to Torquatus, I saluted, and he said, “Well, you heard the man. Get the men up and ready to move on my command, quickly!”
Trotting back to where my men were waiting, I gave the order to make ready to move again. I could see how tired they were when there was not one word of complaint, instead men just staggering to their feet and picking up their shields.
~ ~ ~ ~
We moved around the 1st Legion, but for once Caesar had misjudged the caliber of his enemy, because they did not panic at the sight of us in their rear. I do not doubt that we could have broken them if we had attacked, but those were not our orders, and it was a suicidally brave or stupid man who disobeyed an order of Gaius Julius Caesar. Torquatus was neither, therefore we continued past the 1st, headed to the camp. The ground along the way was littered with discarded bits of equipment, dead or dying horses, and bodies of men lying sprawled in attitudes that told a tale of headlong flight. Normally in situations like this, while we marched along we would finish off any wounded men we came across, but on this day, we did not do so because these were our countrymen. In the heat of battle we would do our very best to slaughter each other, yet none of us had it in them to slaughter a helpless Roman who under different circumstances could be a comrade with whom we shared the same marching camp. I did have men stop and search for any water that might be lying about, as did the other Cohort commanders, but otherwise we marched steadily towards the Pompeian camp, where a fierce fight seemed to be taking place. On our approach, we saw what appeared to be forces composed of at least two Legions detach itself from the melee at the walls of the Pompeian camp, then begin to march away towards the hills to the northwest of the camp, clearly intent on escape. Even as they did so, we joined the other Cohorts that had made it to the walls of the camp and without waiting for orders we began to shower the men lining the walls with javelins that we picked up on the march, making short work of scouring the walls clear of the enemy.