A short distance from the entrance stood a number of legionaries and officers. Their awkward stance told Romulus that these must be the others up for a decoration. Sure enough, it was to the end of this line that Atilius urged them. 'Good luck,' he whispered.

'What shall we do, sir?' asked Sabinus desperately.

'Salute, accept your award and thank Caesar,' Atilius muttered. 'Then wait to be dismissed.'

They shuffled into place, nodding at the other candidates.

The trumpeters lifted their bucinae and sounded a sharp burst of notes.

'Attention!' cried one of the senior officers.

Every man present snapped upright.

Romulus and his companions were well placed to see Caesar stroll out into the morning air. Dressed in his scarlet cloak, gilded breastplate and leather-bordered skirt, he wore a gladius with an ornate gold and ivory hilt and a scabbard inlaid with silver. A highly polished crested helmet and calf-length leather boots completed his attire. His thin face and long nose gave him a regal air. Caesar looked every part the general.

'At ease,' he said calmly.

Everyone relaxed except Romulus and the other men in the line.

Caesar walked forward and raised his hands. At once an expectant hush fell over the whole gathering. 'Comrades,' he began. 'Yesterday was a long day.'

'That's putting it mildly, Caesar,' shouted a wag from the depths of the assembled men.

A loud gust of laughter rose into the clear air, and Caesar smiled. He liked this badinage with his men: it increased the bond between them. 'It was a hard fight, against terrible odds,' he admitted. 'The enemy did his best to annihilate us. But he did not succeed. Why?' Again Caesar paused, and Romulus saw his art, how the man was a master of oratory as well as a great military leader. He glanced at the men around him, and saw how they were hanging on the general's every word.

'Why?' Caesar repeated his question. 'Because of you.' He pointed dramatically at a legionary near him. The man grinned delightedly. 'And you. You and you.' His forefinger stabbed at a second soldier, and then a third and fourth. 'All of you fought like heroes!'

He let the cry swelling in every man's throat burst forth and, smiling, strode forward to the line where Romulus and Sabinus stood. The cheer went on and on, with the watching legionaries now drumming their swords off the metal rims of their shields to create a deafening wall of noise. Eventually, a single word rose above the crescendo, and Romulus struggled not to shout it himself. 'CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR! CAE-SAR!' the soldiers cried.

The man is a genius, thought Romulus, his own pride brimming over. There's no mention of Caesar's own ability, of the hours of fear and the terror, of the order to stay within four steps of the standards. Just stirring words to make every soldier here think he's as brave as Hercules. It works, too. Romulus had never felt so glad to be a Roman legionary. Shoving back his shoulders, he looked down at his mail shirt and polished scutum boss, hoping that he looked respectable enough to meet his leader.

Eventually the din died away.

Caesar stepped up to the first man in the line, who saluted with alacrity. 'Who is this?' he demanded.

'Centurion Asinius Macro, sir,' boomed one of the senior officers. 'First Century, First Cohort, Fifth Legion. Risked his own life on multiple occasions yesterday, most notably to rescue a section of his men who had been cut off by the enemy.'

Caesar half turned, and a slave stepped forward bearing a bronze tray covered with decorations and leather purses. Picking a gold phalera, Caesar fastened it among the others on Macro's chest harness. He muttered a few words of congratulation, and handed over a purse before moving on, leaving the centurion beaming in his wake.

The process was repeated with each man: an announcement of his name and rank, and what he'd done to deserve his award. All the while, the watching legionaries shouted Caesar's name over and over. The atmosphere was electric, helping to dispel any lingering fears about the previous day from their minds. When Caesar reached Sabinus, Romulus had difficulty in not looking sideways. His pulse began to race. As with the others, their general clapped Sabinus on the shoulder and awarded him a silver phalera and purse. Finally he moved to stand before Romulus.

He snapped rigidly to attention.

'Legionary Romulus, First Century, Second Cohort, Twenty-Eighth Legion,' cried the officer.

'And his reason for standing here?' asked Caesar.

'It was his idea to try and kill Petreius, sir,' Atilius answered. 'In just their tunics, he and two others crossed the battlefield to infiltrate the Numidians. They didn't succeed completely, but legionary Romulus injured the whoreson. The enemy broke and ran, when just a few moments earlier, Petreius had been successfully rallying them. If it hadn't been for Romulus' action, our counter-attack would have been a complete failure.'

Caesar raised his eyebrows. Of course he'd already heard the story. 'You vouch for this man?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Atilius confidently.

'Used to be in the Tenth, didn't you?'

'I did, sir.'

Caesar nodded. 'I heard about your little javelin throw yesterday. Well done.'

Atilius beamed. 'Thank you, sir.'

Caesar turned back to Romulus. 'A worthy deed, it seems.' He frowned suddenly. 'Have we met before?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Romulus, his cheeks flushing.

'Where?'

'In Rome, sir. You granted me my manumission at the arena.'

Recognition flared in Caesar's eyes, and he smiled. 'Oh yes! The slave who killed the Ethiopian bull.'

'Yes, sir,' answered Romulus, his face burning now.

'Killing wild beasts is not your only skill, it seems.'

'It was an honour to take part in the attempt, sir. Sorry that I didn't kill Petreius.'

Caesar laughed. 'Never mind, man! He ran away, and his men followed. That's all we needed, and it's thanks to you. There'll be another day to settle the matter.'

'Sir.'

Taking a gold phalera from the tray, Caesar attached it to Romulus' mail. 'Continue like this and you'll end up an officer,' he said, handing over two heavy purses. 'Caesar does not forget good legionaries like you.'

'Thank you, sir!' Grinning from ear to ear, Romulus thumped a fist off his chest in salute.

The general gave him a friendly nod and returned to his senior officers.

'I give you – Caesar's bravest soldiers,' cried one of the trumpeters. He lifted his instrument and blew a short fanfare.

A rousing cheer went up, with Romulus' voice straining itself hoarse among them.

Then, followed by his subordinates, Caesar entered his headquarters. It was where he stayed for the following few weeks. Although enemy activity in and around his camp at Ruspina was vigorous, Caesar calmly ignored it all. With the defences of the camp being increased daily – every craftsman available was making sling-shot balls and javelins, catapults were mounted on every guard tower and the walls were fully manned day and night – Caesar had the confidence to remain out of sight, receiving reports and issuing his commands in response. His assurance was proved correct by the Pompeians' failure to attack. Even when Labienus' forces were reinforced by the arrival of Metellus Scipio and his army, Caesar's enemies did not act.

More legions and cavalry arrived from Italy, bringing with them much needed supplies. There were regular skirmishes with the Pompeians, but none were decisive. Caesar's attempt to take the town of Uzitta, which was the main source for his enemy's water, failed, but the Pompeians lost many soldiers in their unsuccessful attempts to dislodge Caesar's forces from their positions. Eventually, realising that there was little gain to be had from continuing the siege, Caesar led his ten legions off towards a settlement by the name of Aggar. They were harassed all the way by the Numidian cavalry, and struggled at one stage to move a hundred paces in more than four hours. What helped the beleaguered soldiers then was the knowledge that if they stuck together and did not break ranks, the enemy horse was able to do little more than injure a few men with their throwing spears.