'Don't look up to much, do they?' sneered Sabinus.

His comment was greeted with contemptuous grunts of agreement.

Romulus' spirits lifted. It was hard to see how the lightly armed skirmishers could have any meaningful impact on their lines. Although the Gaulish cavalry would come off worst, perhaps they, the infantry, could turn the tide in Caesar's favour?

They were now within a hundred paces of the enemy. Close enough to pick out individual men's faces. To see their lips twisted back in fury. To hear their ululating war cries.

Romulus licked his lips. It was nearly time.

An instant later, the bucinae sounded the charge.

'Up and at them, men,' roared Atilius. 'Wait for my call to release your pila.'

The Twenty-Eighth surged forward.

Romulus' caligae pounded off the short grass. He glanced left and right, taking in the bunched jaws, the nervous faces and the downright terrified expressions of a few soldiers. As always, his own stomach was knotted with nerves. The sooner they closed with the enemy, the better. He scanned the figures running towards them, and felt slightly reassured. The Numidians looked puny compared to the heavily armed men all around him. Sabinus had to be right. What chance had these skirmishers of resisting a charge by legionaries? Half an hour later, Romulus was of a different mind altogether. Rather than meet the legionaries in a clash of shield against shield, and engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat, the Numidians acted almost like horsemen. Fleet of foot, and unencumbered by equipment, they ran in towards the Romans, discharged a volley of javelins, and fled. If they were pursued, they kept running. When the exhausted legionaries stopped to take a breather, the Numidians swarmed back, flinging spears and throwing taunts in their guttural tongue. Nothing the Romans did made any difference. While few men had been killed, there were dozens of injured. It was the same story all along the line.

Here and there, frustrated groups of Caesar's soldiers had ignored their officers and broken ranks to charge the groups of the enemy that ventured close to their positions. Romulus had developed a healthy respect for the Numidians, whose tactics changed when attacked in this manner. They turned in unison like a flock of birds, but their purpose was altogether more deadly. The pursuing clusters of legionaries were quickly enveloped and overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. Then, before the watching cohorts could respond, the enemy skirmishers were gone again, running back towards their own lines.

Romulus was quite worried. Atilius and his officers had kept most of the Twenty-Eighth in position, but the Numidians' assaults were whittling away at the men's confidence. Without the officers' constant reassuring shouts, and the waving of the eagle, he thought they might have broken and run by now. Romulus could see by the wavering of the other cohorts' positions that the situation was the same everywhere.

The Gaulish cavalry was faring no better. Driven backwards by the Numidians, they were struggling to remain anywhere near Caesar's flanks. Already the cohorts on the edges were having to defend themselves against harrying attacks from the javelin-throwing horsemen. Before long, the enemy riders would have enveloped the entire patrol, blocking off its only avenue of escape. Romulus had vivid memories from Carrhae of what befell infantry when that happened. He didn't mention a word of this to Sabinus or the men around him, but there was no need. They'd heard the story of Curio, Caesar's former tribune in Africa, who had come unstuck in this manner the previous year. Moreover, they could see what was happening for themselves.

Panic was creeping into the faces of many.

Romulus could feel the first flutters of it in his belly too.

Chapter XVI: Labienus and Petreius

Caesar had seen what was going on. Soon orders were carried by messengers along his entire front that no one, on pain of death, was to move more than four paces from the main line occupied by his cohort. Romulus took great heart from this. Caesar was even roving between units, talking to the legionaries and bolstering their courage. In the cohort next to Romulus, he had seen a wavering signifer turn around and try to flee. Grabbing the man, Caesar had turned him bodily to face back towards the Numidians, telling him, 'Look, the enemy's that way!' It had raised a shame-faced laugh from the surrounding soldiers, and bolstered the other units' courage.

Caesar's men held their lines still, but his fighting words could not stop the relentless harrying by the enemy skirmishers and horsemen. By the time an hour had passed, scores of soldiers had been injured in each cohort, and their cries did little to decrease the general unease in the ranks. Something drastic needed to be done if the situation wasn't going to spiral out of control. Romulus could feel his own determination being drained. Cursing the wraithlike Numidians, he shoved his black thoughts away.

To add to their distress, the Pompeian leader was revealed to be Labienus, not Metellus Scipio. Formerly one of Caesar's most trusted legates during the prolonged campaign in Gaul, Labienus had changed sides after Caesar's crossing of the Rubicon. Infuriated, Caesar had sent his baggage after him. Like many of the Pompeian leaders, Labienus had taken part in the battle of Pharsalus, but after Caesar's victory, he had travelled to Africa rather than surrender. An accomplished general in his own right, he now took the opportunity to urge on his own men and to harangue Caesar's battered cohorts.

Riding bareheaded into the no man's land between the two armies, Labienus taunted the legionaries with astute barbs that showed his awareness of their inexperience. 'Greetings, raw soldiers! What are you doing?' he cried. 'You're terrifying me!'

No one replied.

Urging his mount nearer Caesar's lines, Labienus continued in the same vein. 'Has Caesar taken you all in with his honeyed words? Look at you now!' With a sneer, he pointed at their ragged appearance and the number of wounded. 'What a place your general has guided you all to. I pity the lot of you.'

The exhausted legionaries glanced at each other. Few received any reassurance. Here was one of Caesar's former leaders, whose men were winning the battle, insulting them with impunity.

Romulus felt differently. Come closer, you bastard, he thought, his fingers itching on the shaft of his javelin. The Pompeian leader was still out of range, though.

Emboldened by the lack of response from Caesar's men, Labienus moved his horse forward a dozen steps. Then a dozen more. 'You're pathetic,' he shouted. 'Call yourselves Romans? The peasants from the little farms around here make better recruits than you!'

Before Romulus could react, Atilius pushed his way forward. 'I'm no raw recruit, Labienus,' he shouted. 'But a veteran of the Tenth Legion.'

Taken aback for a moment, Labienus quickly recovered his poise. 'Really? Where's your standard then?' he demanded. 'I can see none for the Tenth.'

Atilius pulled off his centurion's crested helmet and tossed it to the ground. Staring proudly at Labienus so that he could be recognised, he stuck out a hand behind him. 'A pilum,' he ordered. 'Now.'

Romulus broke ranks to give Atilius his remaining one.

'I'll show you what kind of soldier I am, you whoreson,' the senior centurion roared. 'One of Caesar's best.' Lunging forward, he threw the javelin with all his might at Labienus.

Romulus held his breath.

His pilum hummed through the air to strike the legate's mount squarely in the chest. Severely wounded, the horse collapsed kicking to the ground. Labienus was thrown free, but landed badly. There was a dramatic silence as he lay sprawled on the ground. Eventually, he picked himself up with a groan.