His end
was piteous, but scarcely tragic, for the cause to which he was sacrificed
was too slightly removed from being ignominious. He was no Phoebus Apollo
sinking into the ocean, surrounded with glory. He was not even a brilliant
meteor. He was a weak, good man, whom accident had thrust into a place to
which he was unequal; and ignorant of himself, and unwilling to part with
his imaginary greatness, he was flung down with careless cruelty by the
forces which were dividing the world. His friend Lentulus shared his fate,
and was killed a few days later, while Pompey's ashes were still smoking.
Two of Bibulus's sons, who had accompanied him, were murdered as well.
Caesar meanwhile had followed along Pompey's track, hoping to overtake
him. In Cilicia he heard where he was gone; and learning something more
accurately there of the state of Egypt, he took two legions with him, one
of which had attended him from Pharsalia, and another which he had sent
for from Achaia. With these he sailed for Alexandria. Together, so much
had they been thinned by hard service, these legions mustered between them
little over 3,000 men. The force was small, but Caesar considered that,
after Pharsalia, there could be no danger for him anywhere in the
Mediterranean. He landed without opposition, and was presented on his
arrival, as a supposed welcome offering, with the head of his rival.
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