ross
his enemy's dead body.

The Pompeian reserves ran up to aid their comrades in the line. The
odds against the Caesarian cohorts were tremendous. The pressure of
shield against shield never abated. Woe to the man who lost footing
and fell; his life was trampled out in a twinkling! The battle-cries
grew fewer and fewer; shouting requires breath; breath, energy; and
every scruple of energy was needed in pushing on those shields. There
were few pila left now. The short swords dashed upon the armour, but
in the press even to swing a blade was difficult. More and more
intense grew the strain; Caesarians gave ground here and then regained
it. Pompeians did the like yonder. The long reach of the line swayed
to and fro, rippling like a dark ribbon in the wind. Now and then a
combatant would receive a mortal wound, and go down out of sight in
the throng, which closed over him almost ere he could utter one sharp
cry.

Caesar was everywhere. His voice rang like a clarion down the lines; he
knew, as it were, each soldier by name--and when a stout blow was to
be struck, or a stand was needed to bear up against the weight of
hostile numbers, Caesar's praise or admonition to stand firm was as a
fresh cohort flung into the scale. Drusus rode with him, both mounted,
hence unable to mingle in the press, but exposed to the showers of
arrows and sling-stones which the Pompeian auxiliaries rained upon
them. Caesar's red paludamentum marked him out a conspicuous figure for
the aim of the missiles, but he bore a charmed life.

Drusus himself did what he could to steady the men. The contest in the
line of battle could not continue long, flesh and blood might not
endure the strain.

"Imperator," cried Drusus, riding up to his chief, "you see that this
can last no longer. Our men are overmatched. Shall I order up the
third line? The centurion Crastinus, who swore that he would win your
gratitude living or dead, is slain after performing deeds worthy of
his boast. Many others have gone down. What shall I do?"

Caesar drew rein, and cast his eyes down the swaying lines.

"I dare not order up the third line so early," he began; then, with a
glance to the extreme right, "Ah, _Mehercle!_ we are at the crisis
now! Our cavalry have given way before the enemy's horse. They are
outflanking us!"

"The six cohorts!" cried Drusus.

"The six cohorts--ride! Make them stop those horse, or all is lost! On
your life, go!"

And away went Drusus. T