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the eye and be humiliated, but anything that delayed the killing was welcome. Every moment had become precious.
    He saw that two of them held shields ready for the third and knew he was looking at the man who had beaten Gaul and now threatened their own city. The rider wore no helmet and simple armor with a dark red cloak that was crumpled under him, spilling down his mount’s flank. In a crowd, Ahenobarbus might not have noticed him, but after the maneuvers that had broken his guards without a single spear or sword thrust, the man seemed like some creature from the dark river, come to taunt him. It was easy enough to imagine the Roman blood that would stain his cloak.
    Ahenobarbus stood straighter. “When he comes close, lads, we rush him on my order. Pass the word. We might not be able to beat these bastards, but if we can kill the general, we haven’t been wasted.”
    Seneca stared at him and Ahenobarbus held his eyes long enough to force him to look away. The young man still thought this was some elaborate tactical game, with Rome open behind them. Some of them knew better and Ahenobarbus saw nods of assent spread out from him. Sometimes a man could forget that his life was not the most important thing in the world, that there really were things worth dying for. In the chaos and fear, Ahenobarbus had been almost resigned to surrender, before the truth came back to him. This was an enemy, Roman or not.
    Seneca came close, so as not to be overheard by the men. “Sir, we cannot attack now. We
must
surrender,” the young man said into his ear.
    Ahenobarbus glanced at him and noted the fear. “Go back, lad, and let them see you stand. When he comes close enough, we’ll cut him down.”
    Seneca opened his mouth, unable to understand the dark ferocity he saw in his commander. It had never been there before and it shocked him into silence as he moved away.
    Ahenobarbus chuckled to himself. He looked at the grim legions facing him. They too had halted after their display and, grudgingly, he admitted their superiority. It had been impressive enough to see the way they dismantled his rough formations. The horsemen looked eager to be sent in and the sight of those cold killers sent a shiver through his frame. On the backs of their mounts, the riders seemed enormous and Ahenobarbus knew their reputation as well as anyone else who had read the reports from Gaul. It gave the enemy a glamour he could not deny and it was hard to think of those veterans charging in amongst his inexperienced soldiers.
    â€œWho has led you here? Let that man step forward!” a voice carried over the field.
    Faces turned to Ahenobarbus and he smiled mirthlessly as he made his way through the ranks to the front. The sun shone and his vision seemed unnaturally clear, as if the edges of things had sharpened.
    Ahenobarbus stepped out from his men, alone. He felt the eyes of thousands on him as the three horsemen rode closer. Gently, he drew his sword and took a deep breath. Let them come in and get his answer, he thought to himself. His heart hammered, but he felt calm and strangely detached as Julius Caesar glared down at him.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” Julius roared, red-faced in anger. “What is your name?”
    Ahenobarbus almost took a step back in surprise. “Ahenobarbus,” he replied, stifling the urge to add “sir.” He felt the men behind jostle and readied himself to give the order to attack.
    â€œHow dare you bare your sword to me, Ahenobarbus? How
dare
you! You have abused the trust placed in you. Be thankful none of your men or mine have been killed or I would see you hanged before sunset.”
    Ahenobarbus blinked in confusion. “I have orders to—”
    â€œOrders from whom? Pompey? By what right is he still Dictator in my city? I stand before you as a loyal Roman and you mutter about your orders. Do you
want
to be killed? Who do you think you are to be