So one night Mithridates ordered the sick and wounded to be killed, for they would have hampered the army in its flight. The king did not hesitate to give such a cruel order, for he and his followers had not been taught to pity the weak and helpless. The watch-fires were lighted at the usual time, that the suspicions of the Romans might not be roused. Then when the camp seemed quiet for the night, Mithridates and the main body of the army slipped out into the dark, and somehow succeeded in passing unnoticed through the Roman lines. In dread of pursuit, they hid themselves by day in forests, at night they marched as quickly as possible toward the river Euphrates. When Pompey found that Mithridates had escaped, he blamed his own carelessness and followed swiftly in pursuit. As he marched by day as well as by night, he was soon in advance of the king. So it happened that when Mithridates encamped by the banks of the river Euphrates, the Romans were already there, and determined that the enemy should not again escape. But the very first evening as it grew dark Pompey became restless. He had set a strict watch, it was true, yet Mithridates had already shown himself skilful in evading sentinels. It would be safer to attack the camp without delay. Pompey summoned his officers, and arranged that the assault should take place at midnight. Meanwhile, Mithridates lay asleep in his tent, worn out with fatigue and anxiety. As he slept, his troubles slipped from his mind, and the old king dreamed pleasant dreams. He thought that he had reached the sea, and was in a ship. The winds blew soft and fair, wafting the vessel quietly along toward a harbour where no foes could touch him. In his dream the king began to tell his friends how pleased he was to have reached so safe a haven, when suddenly the wind rose, lashing the sea into fury. The king grasped a spar, but his strength failed, and he was beginning to sink, when he awoke, and lo! it was a dream. At that moment his officers rushed into his tent, to tell him that the Romans were preparing to attack them. Swiftly the king shook off the effects of his dream, and ordered his troops to defend their camp to the last. Now, as the Romans approached the enemy, the moon rose behind them and cast their shadows on the ground. The soldiers of Mithridates saw the black flitting forms and grew bewildered. In the indistinct light they thought the shadows were the real soldiers, and they flung their darts at these imaginary foes. Then with a great shout the Romans rushed in upon the puzzled enemy, fear was at once added to their confusion, and in sheer panic they turned and fled. But more than ten thousand were killed, and their camp was taken. Mithridates himself once more escaped. At the head of about eight hundred horse he made a desperate charge through the enemy’s lines, and then in the darkness of the night he was seen no more.