THE FLIGHT OF POMPEY
In the camps of both Pompey and Cæsar there was great suffering. The
chief strength of Pompey’s army was its cavalry, which was 7000 strong,
and the horses had begun to die for want of food.
Pompey had many officers of noble rank in his camp, and they urged him
to fight at once, or there would be no horses left for the soldiers to
ride.
But Pompey knew that his large army was undisciplined, that many of the
soldiers were rebellious, and he wished to avoid a battle. He hoped
that the difficulty of providing food for his army would force Cæsar to
retreat.
It was indeed true that Cæsar’s legions were suffering from hunger,
but they would have died rather than let the enemy know that this was
so. They tried their utmost to mislead them. To stay their hunger
they gathered a root which they found in the fields, and made it as
palatable as they could by adding milk to it.
Sometimes they made the root into loaves of a kind, and some of these
they threw into the enemy’s camp, as though to say, ‘Whatever you may
think, we have food enough and to spare.’
Not a murmur was heard in Cæsar’s camp. Every man remained loyal to his
general, and cheerful, even when suffering intensely from the pangs of
hunger.
It had been spring when Mark Antony joined Cæsar. It was now nearly
the end of summer, and still the two armies were encamped near to each
other, but no battle had been fought.
Then, at length, it happened, that Pompey discovered a weak point in
Cæsar’s lines, which he believed he could attack with success.
His army, pleased to be at last in action, advanced with alacrity as
soon as the order was given.
As Pompey had hoped, Cæsar’s troops were soon driven back toward their
camp in utter confusion, while the camp itself was in danger of being
taken.
In vain did Cæsar try to rally his forces, heedless of his own danger,
if he could but stem the flight of his men. As one strong active
soldier ran past, Cæsar caught hold of him, to make him turn to face
the foe.
Mad with terror, and scarce knowing what he did, the fugitive raised
his sword. He was going to strike his general.
But, quick as lightning, Cæsar’s armour-bearer struck off the soldier’s
arm, and his sword fell harmlessly to the ground. Cæsar had narrowly
escaped with his life.
Had Pompey followed up his attack, he might have captured the camp and
won a decisive victory, as Cæsar himself was aware. But Pompey sounded
a retreat, and the decisive battle had still to be fought.
Cæsar wasted no time in bemoaning the losses of the day, although he
must have felt that evening that his fortunes were at their lowest ebb.
He determined to march without delay into Thessaly, and so to entice
Pompey away from the sea. For then he would not be able to get
provisions for his army and would be forced to fight. And Cæsar was
eager to meet his enemy fairly on the battlefield.
When Pompey’s officers saw that Cæsar was retreating, they could
scarcely believe their eyes, but their confidence in their own prowess
was confirmed.
They begged Pompey to follow, and he reluctantly yielded, but for that
day alone. Knowing well the strength of Cæsar’s veterans, he had no
wish to fight a regular battle, and so he ordered his soldiers to set
up their camp again.
The patrician officers were exasperated with the indecision of their
general. They did not cease to taunt him for not fighting, or to urge
him still to follow Cæsar, until at length Pompey made up his mind
that they should have their way and pit themselves against Cæsar’s
well-disciplined officers and troops.
Both armies accordingly reached Thessaly, although by different routes,
and soon they were encamped on the plain of Pharsalia, where, in August
48 B.C., a great and decisive battle was fought.
Pompey’s confidence was placed chiefly on his splendid cavalry, and he
believed that his 7000 horsemen would speedily scatter the 1000 which
was all that Cæsar had to oppose to his great force.
But if his body of cavalry was small, Cæsar had supported it well by
his infantry and archers.
His horsemen were, it is true, driven back before the brilliant charge
of the enemy, but the infantry and archers attacked Pompey’s cavalry so
furiously, that soon it was forced from the field in utter confusion.
Cæsar’s infantry then advanced against the main body of Pompey’s army.
The soldiers first hurled their javelins at the enemy and then closed
in upon them, doing deadly havoc with their swords.
Before long Cæsar sent a reserve troop of soldiers to their aid, and
soon the army of Pompey was put to flight. For the patrician officers
had not proved skilful on the battlefield, nor had they now any control
over their undisciplined followers.
When Pompey saw that his cavalry was scattered at the beginning of the
day, he lost hope and hastened to his tent, where he sat, amid the
confused noise of battle, bewildered and dismayed.
Only when the victorious army began to attack the camp did he seem to
realise that he must bestir himself, unless he would be captured by the
enemy.
‘What, into my camp too,’ he is said to have cried indignantly as
he heard the clash of arms and shouts of victory drawing nearer and
nearer. Then swiftly laying aside his military dress, the defeated
general slipped into a simple garment, and hurrying from the tent,
mounted a horse, and with a few followers fled toward the coast. It was
useless for him to think of meeting Cæsar again, for his army was slain
or scattered. So he resolved to seek shelter in Egypt.
It was a sad voyage on which Pompey embarked, for he had been
overthrown, and that by his rival, who would reign supreme.
As the ship drew near to land, Pompey sent a messenger to Alexandria to
beg for shelter.
The king, Ptolemy XII., was only a boy of thirteen, but the royal
council, when it heard Pompey’s request, proved cruel. It neither
welcomed him nor sent him elsewhere to seek for safety. At first some
of the members spoke on his behalf, but in the end they all agreed that
he must die.
But they did not tell him their decision, they merely sent a boat to
bring him to shore. In the boat was Septimius, a military tribune of
Rome, who had once served in Pompey’s army.
As Pompey prepared to step into the boat his wife clung to him, and
filled with foreboding would hardly let him go. But he bade her and his
followers farewell, and seated himself in the stern of the boat. As he
did so he noticed Septimius and spoke kindly to him.
But Septimius had no answer to give to his former general. He had been
unjustly degraded by him in former days as he believed, and he still
owed him a grudge.
In response to Pompey’s words, he only nodded sullenly and with averted
face.
Did a swift dread of what lay before him flash across Pompey’s mind as
he heard the Roman’s gruff response to his greeting.
He had at least no time to brood over the future, for, now they had
reached the shore, and as Pompey stepped out of the boat, Septimius,
who was behind him, drew his sword.
As Pompey felt the touch of the steel he swiftly drew his toga across
his face, and then, without a cry for help, he fell to the ground.
When Cæsar reached Egypt ten days later, he was shown the head of his
rival and his signet ring. From the first sight he turned away in
horror, while, when he saw the ring, he wept.