It was the third watch of the night when Pompey attacked.
Julius Caesar peered at the distant battle from the rampart of his fortifications. The air was filled with metallic clangs and piercing cries. The land between his fortifications and Pompey’s was spread out like a map, but alive with violence and death. The multitude of torches carried by the legionaries swarmed on the battlefield, mimicking the undulating movement of a giant beast in throes of agony. Despite the distance and the darkness, Caesar knew exactly which of those points of light belonged to his legionaries. He had trained them himself in battle formations, and he could follow their familiar movements as they changed formation and tactics. He felt proud that ‘his’ torches were matching Pompey’s and not backing down.
“Look there,” one of his bodyguards shouted, pointing way into the distance.
Something was moving there—just a hint of shimmering at first, much further than where the battle raged. Slowly the view cleared—multiple dots of light were bouncing steadily towards the battle zone.
What is Pompey up to?