The Historians' History of the World 05 [The Roman Republic]

Pompey could not resist the pressure. He had put himself into this position, so he ceased to delay; and on the fateful 9th of August 48 [6th of June by the rectified calendar] he led his army over the river Enipeus.

Success seemed to favour the aristocrats when their numerous superior cavalry surrounded Cæsar’s right wing, which faced the plain, whilst the fighting by Cæsar’s left wing was resultless, and the weak cavalry of Cæsar could not long withstand the masses of Pompeian horsemen. T. Labienus commanded the corps against his former imperator, but as he pressed forward victoriously he was opposed by the two thousand picked legionaries which Cæsar, foreseeing the enemy’s attack, had placed there. “Strike the pretty young dancers on the face,” cried their general to them, and the determined, unexpected method in which they, contrary to custom, used the pila as lances threw the enemy’s cavalry into disorder and forced it to flight.

Cæsar profited by this movement to make his reserve line advance for a general attack. Pompey’s legions, greatly inferior to Cæsar’s veterans in military prowess, began to retreat across the Enipeus. All was not yet lost, but Pompey, too spoiled by success to bear a moment’s reverse, neglected his duty, and throwing up the sponge he rode back to the camp. The vanquished legions gradually followed suit, as it became known in their ranks that mercy and consideration would be shown them by the enemy. They were driven from the camp by fresh onslaughts, and at midday it was stormed by the Cæsarians.

But Pompey had already mounted his horse and fled. His soldiers, in increasing disorder, destitute of command albeit fighting continuously, withdrew to the hills in the attempt to reach Larissa by that route.

But the dissolution was at hand; a number cast down their arms trusting to the victors’ promised mercy, and those who reached the heights were disappointed in their hope of getting to Larissa, for they were surrounded in the evening by Cæsar’s lines. The next morning twenty thousand men, a whole army, laid down their arms; fifteen thousand capitulated the previous day, whilst not more than six thousand lost their lives.

The victory did not cost Cæsar more than one thousand men. The enemy’s army was destroyed, but the results of the battle were not foreseen. They depended upon the course Pompey would take. Of him nothing was known but that he had taken the road to the sea and had escaped.

It is evident that this battle was mainly lost from want of command. But why did Pompey so quickly give it up for lost without any attempt to arrest the course of fate? We have no record from his headquarters which can throw light upon these facts, but it seems that the party of which he was the chief had grown too much for him; that a deep discontent and ill-humour took possession of him, and both the party and the cause for which he had sacrificed himself had become loathsome to him before the battle took place. This is the only explanation of his conduct at the battle. How could it be otherwise? His aim and object were quite opposed to those of the party to which he was chained, and he was so entirely in its power that even complete victory would have only benefited them, not him. Perhaps the shame of appearing before his own party drove him to this hasty flight; perhaps he was afraid of personal danger at the hands of his colleagues, for this Pompeian camp was torn with every passion. Suffice it to say he escaped, and this flight made the defeat dangerous, for his person was the rallying point for the resistance of his party.