it weakened his own legions
dangerously, there was but one thing to do, unless Labienus was to
force around the flank, and sweep all before him. Six cohorts Caesar
stationed at the rear of his right wing, a defence against the hostile
cavalry. The third line of the legions the Imperator commanded to hold
back until he ordered them otherwise, for on them lay the turning of
the battle.

Antonius commanded the left, Publius Sulla the right, Calvinus the
centre. Caesar himself took post on his own right wing opposite
Pompeius. Then, when the lines were formed, he rode down before his
men, and addressed them; not in gaudy eloquence, as if to stir a
flagging courage, but a manly request that they quit themselves as
became his soldiers. Ever had he sought reconciliation, he said, ever
peace; unwillingly had he exposed his own soldiers, and unwillingly
attacked his enemies. And to the six chosen cohorts in the fourth line
he gave a special word, for he bade them remember that doubtless on
their firmness would depend the fate of the battle.

"Yes," he said in closing, while every scarred and tattered veteran
laughed at the jest, "only thrust your pila in the faces of those
brave cavaliers. They will turn and flee if their handsome faces are
likely to be bruised." And a grim chuckle went down the line,
relieving the tension that was making the oldest warriors nervous.

Caesar galloped back to his position on his own right wing. The legions
were growing restive, and there was no longer cause for delay. The
officers were shouting the battle-cry down the lines. The Imperator
nodded to his trumpeter, and a single sharp, long peal cut the air.
The note was drowned in the rush of twenty thousand feet, the howl of
myriads of voices.

"_Venus victrix!_" The battle-cry was tossed from mouth to mouth,
louder and louder, as the mighty mass of men in iron swept on.

"Venus victrix!" And the shout itself was dimmed in the crash of
mortal battle, when the foremost Caesarians sent their pila dashing in
upon the enemy, and closed with the short sword, while their comrades
piled in upon them. Crash after crash, as cohort struck cohort; and so
the battle joined.

* * * * *

Why was the battle of Pharsalus more to the world than fifty other
stricken fields where armies of strength equal to those engaged there
joined in conflict? Why can these other battles be passed over as
dates and names to the historian,