Julius Caesar is Defeated at Dyrrachium

It was the third watch of the night when Pompey attacked. 

Julius Caesar peered at the distant battle from the rampart of his fortifications. The air was filled with metallic clangs and piercing cries. The land between his fortifications and Pompey’s was spread out like a map, but alive with violence and death. The multitude of torches carried by the legionaries swarmed on the battlefield, mimicking the undulating movement of a giant beast in throes of agony. Despite the distance and the darkness, Caesar knew exactly which of those points of light belonged to his legionaries. He had trained them himself in battle formations, and he could follow their familiar movements as they changed formation and tactics. He felt proud that ‘his’ torches were matching Pompey’s and not backing down.

“Look there,” one of his bodyguards shouted, pointing way into the distance. 

Something was moving there—just a hint of shimmering at first, much further than where the battle raged. Slowly the view cleared—multiple dots of light were bouncing steadily towards the battle zone.

What is Pompey up to?

… the year was 48 BC and Julius Caesar was waging war with his nemesis, Pompey Magnus, on the coast of Greece near Dyrrachium. One year ago he had crossed the Rubicon and advanced towards Rome, hoping to dominate Pompey and the senate. Instead, Pompey and his cortege left Rome and fled towards the heel of Italy. Caesar charged after them all the way to Brundisium, but Pompey and his cronies escaped again, setting sail towards the Greek shores. Not one to accept defeat, Caesar followed, this time across the sea.

Caesar clutched the stony rampart, watching with trepidation as the distant dots of light joined the battling mass with the intensity of a tidal wave. Shouts and clangs intensified. The battlefield throbbed with fire and trumpet calls, interspersed with battle cries, faster and more vigorously than before. 

The man beside him gasped. “Our men—they retreat.” It was the same bodyguard, the one with the gifted vision.

Sure enough the dots of light closest to Caesar had begun scattering. He knew his bodyguard had interpreted the turn of battle correctly. His ranks were in disarray after the latest onslaught from Pompey.

“We must not lose ground, comrades,” he said to the solemn group of five men who stood by. “Ride out with me.”

Six horses, standing ready, were mounted hastily and set into gallop.

As the first wave of retreating legionaries approached him, Caesar and his bodyguards slowed their horses. The look of terror was apparent on the men's faces. Caesar dismounted from his horse.

I have to rally my men, or all is lost.

“Stop,” he shouted, raising his right arm at the oncoming legionaries. “I command you to stop.” 

The legionaries ignored him as they ran towards safety. Caesar turned a complete circle, swirling his red cloak in the air. Now they should recognize him as their commander. But the tide of legionaries did not pay heed. Their numbers kept swelling, and soon the entire ground filled with fleeing legionaries. 

A massive legionary, a head taller than him and carrying a torch, was charging directly at Caesar. Just when the giant tried to swerve past him, Caesar pushed into the man’s chest with his shoulder. Despite his size, the legionary stumbled, taken with such force.

Caesar steadied the man before he fell. “Turn around, comrade,” he said, pointing in the direction from where the giant had just fled. “The battle—it wages that way.”

The look on the legionaries’ face turned from terror to disbelief, possibly as he recognized who had accosted him. For a moment he looked puzzled, and then without a warning he swung his torch towards Caesar. Caesar ducked just in time as the searing flame carved a wide arc above his head. Before he could regain his balance, the legionary had unsheathed his gladius, the sharp tip pointing at Caesar’s belly. 

Julius Caesar stood rooted to the spot in disbelief, as the bulging muscles of the man's arm tightened and he lunged. There was no time to react.

This is my end. 

“Aaahh.” Something warm spurted upon him. A thud.

 A hand, still clutching the gladius, lay on the ground nearby. The owner of the hand, meanwhile, stared with a dazed expression at the stump of his severed arm. Blood spewed generously, soaking Caesar’s cloak and legs with its warmth.  A bodyguard stood beside Caesar, brandishing his own gladius, the metal reddened by the traitor's blood.

The giant was staggering. Caesar smelt burning flesh. The torch had slipped from the giant’s grasp, setting his legs on fire. Panic-stricken, he tried to swat the fire out, while another bodyguard leapt behind him, piercing his gladius into the offender’s neck and driving it home.

The giant cried out as the metal reached his heart but the flames enveloped him, cutting off his dying shrieks.

Caesar felt emotionally drained, seeing the giant die. The bodyguards surrounded him to prevent another attack from the rush of retreating legionaries. More and more of them were abandoning the battle.

There is no fight left in the men. Pompey has broken their spirit. 

“Sound the retreat,” he commanded one of his protectors.

Then he sunk to his knees. The scraggy ground scraped his skin, drawing blood. He lowered himself further, supporting himself on all fours. The stance seemed fitting to him—the stance of a loser. 

I have failed.

Along with his hope of victory, the vision of him becoming the most powerful man in Rome, one which he had harboured since he was sixteen years old, began to evaporate.

Given the superior numbers that Pompey commanded, Caesar’s defeat at Dyrrachium was not surprising. Yet, the humiliation he felt was compounded when one of his own legionaries turned upon him. He knew that his men were scared, perhaps angry at being led into a battle that was almost impossible to win. But many, like his bodyguards, had shown unflinching loyalty, even in the face of danger. He would appeal to that sense of loyalty and inspire them to shrug off their misery and shame. But first, could he rid himself of the waves of humiliation that threatened to engulf him from within? 

Resilience is a quality which distinguishes great leaders from the humdrum of humanity. And for a man like Caesar, this quality was ingrained deep within the fabric of his very being. He stopped wallowing in self-pity, put his impeccable charisma to work, and raised the morale of his men. 

One month later, Caesar and his legionaries marched against Pompey. Another battle took place, this time at Pharsalus in central Greece, where Caesar defeated Pompey.

July 31, 2015: An updated version of this story (+9 more stories) is now available in the FREE ebook It Happened In Ancient Rome. To make your experience more exciting, all stories in this ebook are linked to an interactive, online map of Ancient Rome. Click here to explore this Ancient Map.

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~ A. David Singh