He flew at the heels of his general's charger, for where Caesar went there the fight was thickest.

He saw the Pompeian heavy infantry standing stolidly in their ranks to receive the charge--a fatal blunder, that lost them all the enthusiasm aggression engenders.

The Caesarian veterans would halt before closing in battle, draw breath, and dash over the remaining interval with redoubled vigour.

The Pompeians received them manfully, sending back javelin for javelin; then the short swords flashed from their scabbards, and man pressed against man--staring into one another's face--seeking one another's blood; striking, striking with one thought, hope, instinct--to stride across 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.