Rome

Perhaps if we retreat to the coast via Thessaly

we could hold out until the rains come.

If we go eastward, they'll be able to cut us off here.

Oh, of course.

It will not do.

Ready.

Mmm.

Maps never redraw themselves,

if that's what you're waiting for.

He's right.

We shall just have to fight the wretches here where we stand.

And beat them.

Oh, we shall crush them, doubtless.

Dinner for worms, the whole damn lot of 'em.

Dinner for worms.

Try to avoid bloodshed this time.

Wait a while and Pompey can shave you instead.

Torquatus should have something, no?

A Praetorship perhaps.

If Torquatus is given high office,

then Varro must be given same, else we'll see no end of trouble.

But then what do we give Labienus?

- Macedonia? - Bythnia. Macedonia to Libo.

Plums for your people and porridge for the rest, eh?

Macedonia and Bythnia are not yet ours to bestow.

You are cooking rabbits that have not been caught.

Our particular rabbit is cornered, starving,

and has lost near 2,000 men.

I think we may safely say

that here is a rabbit ready for the pot.

- Why so melancholy, Brutus? - Oh, do I seem so?

- Mmm. - Forgive me.

No, Caesar's defeat is a glory...

we cannot endure tyrants... but I cannot celebrate it.

He was as my father to me.

I feel for you. When do we strike?

Strike? We have already struck.

We have him down, but he is not dead yet, eh?

- When do we strike the final blow? - There will not be one.

If we simply keep him bottled up a month or so more,

the remains of his army will disintegrate and disappear,

- at no cost to us. - Is that honorable?

- Mmm? - Caesar has driven us from Rome,

chased us out of Italy, killed our friends,

usurped our Republic.

Surely, dignity and honor demands we walk in his blood.

Certainly, knee deep.

But you would have hunger do our work for us!

We must attack Caesar and kill him under the eyes of Mars,

- else our victory is empty. - He has sense.

It will look better at home if we win by force.

You are Pompey Magnus.

You conquer and crush your enemies as if they were insects.

People will be disappointed by anything less.

News from Greece.

Mark Antony is safe, but most of the ships in his fleet

sent in aid of Gaius Julius Caesar have been lost at sea.

Caesar is now surrounded and severely outnumbered.

The forces of the Republic and Senate

and of Pompey Magnus confidently expect

a decisive victory to follow shortly.

- There you are. - Here I am.

I ask Timon for protection,

and he sends me a bunch of half wits and clowns!

- Dear me. - Caesar will soon be dead

by every account, and we shall be undefended.

We may as well be lying naked in the street!

You must go to Servilia and ask for a few of her men

- to stand outside for us. - Why?

So that they can guard our doors in her name, silly.

I mean why must I go?

Well, as if I would go begging to Servilia.

- I think not. - I'll not go begging for you.

Oh, don't be so childish. It's not as if she'll refuse.

- You think? - Why would she?

Those lovely gifts I gave her?

- What did she say? - Nothing.

- Nothing. - She said something.

She said nothing.

You're very arrogant, that's all.

Think you can buy her friendship with stud slaves and tortoises?

And six barrels of ice.

I'd rather not go.

You'd rather not go.

You'd rather be gang-raped by slavering proles

while your mother's house burns down around you.

Frankly, I'm past caring.

One day Caesar is winning and you crow happily,

next day he is losing, and I must go a-begging?

I just want this vile war to be over,

- one way or the other. - Octavia, it is over.

That is why you must go to Servilia's house.

It's a bore, I know, but there we are.

Lyde.

Very nice.

Don't.

I'm glad to see you.

I've been worried about you.

No need.

I'm doing very well.

Not as well as you, obviously.

Do you need money?

I've got money if you need some.

I'm sure you have.

Turns out your man backed the right horse.

Fortune loves you.

I don't know if Vorenus is alive or dead.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I didn't want to be like this.

I'm so tired, Niobe.

I'm tired of being angry.

I'm tired of...

hating you.

You're all I've got.

I'm sorry.

Do you want some honey water?

You're wasting your time!

We'll die of thirst long before we die of hunger.

We could drink their blood.

- Repeat? - All these dead men,

we can drink their blood.

Too salty.

Only make you more thirsty.

Putrid by now anyway.

Doesn't matter.

Everything will be fine.

This is where we die.

What are you writing?

A message to Niobe.

All right.

Good idea.

Send my best to Eirene, will you, while you're at it?

If there's space.

Graces, don't we look lovely.

If I am to be a beggar, I will not look like one.

Oh, I am not objecting, my honey,

though you will remind Servilia of what an old trout she has become.

I'm just happy to see you looking so pretty for once.

You do so often insist on playing the frump.

- I hope your mother thrives. - She does.

- And your son? - Also.

- My mother sends me to ask a favor. - Mm-hmm?

She fears the consequences

of this last battle in Greece.

Understandably.

She has enjoyed her ascendancy a little too well.

She asks you to lend her some men

to protect our door in your name.

Of course.

Eleni, send Ajax and three or four others,

- whoever he thinks best. - Thank you.

It's very kind of you. I told my mother

- she should not presume... - Please.

She shall have what she needs.

Forgive me. You are so good to us.

- We do not deserve it. - Don't.

I mu... I must look a fright.

Mmm.

No, not really.

You look lovely.

I better go home.

So soon?

My mother will be worried.

Well, if you feel you should.

Octavia...

Thank you.

Send to Rome.

Tell them...

the decisive battle

begins today.

Sir! Pompey's legions are in the field in battle array!

Thank you, Fulvio. Have you forgotten how to salute?

I haven't, sir. No excuse, sir.

Gracchus, sound assembly!

- Have Xeno saddle my horse. - Sir!

We will accept battle?

Certainly. Why not?

We are outnumbered

three to one on foot and five to one on horse.

What uninjured men we have

are scared and hungry and desperate.

That is the advantage we must press home.

I was not aware irony had military usage.

We must win or die.

Pompey's men have other options.

Goodbye, Posca.

Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!

Send to Rome.

Tell them Caesar has won.

Sir! Caesar's men are coming!

I've cut my hand.

We have to go, sir! They'll catch you.

It's not deep, but it hurts.

They will kill you!

It's of no consequence.

Our forces are routed. What are we to do?

We shall fight again another day I do not doubt...

- And prevail! ...and prevail.

But for the present we must look to our safety.