1-47.    The war now shifts to Spain, where Caesar's forces attack an enemy outpost at Ilerda.  Despite their ardor, they are literally fighting an uphill battle and are soon compelled to retire.  By this point in the poem, it is clear that Pompey has the support of the majority of Rome's subject peoples (Greeks, Spaniards, Celts, etc., etc.).

48-120.    Now, Caesar and his troops suffer another setback--the ravages of a flood followed by a famine (see Caesar, Civil Wars. I.48).  Lucan, however, suggests that this catastrophe was beneficial, since it automatically provided an interlude in the war (117-120).

121-147.    Gradually, the flood waters recede, and Caesar begins to cross the Sicoris River.  For some inexplicable reason, one of Pompey's generals (Petreius) panics and travels west for reinforcements (see Caesar, Civil Wars. I.61).

148-253.    After fording the river, Caesar notices that his adversaries are retreating toward a mountain pass.  He further notices that, if they gain control of that pass, they will be in a position to avoid a decisive engagement and perhaps even to recruit additional allies.  For this reason, he places his camp between the gorge and the retreating army.  What follows is subject to interpretation.  According to Lucan, the opposing camps were close enough for enemy soldiers to recognize each other, and this recognition led to fraternization:  "After their eyes, undimmed by distance, had each others' faces in full view, they grasped the crime of civil war.  For a moment they restrained their voices out of fear; only with a nod or movement of the sword they greet their friends; soon . . . the soldiers dare to climb across the rampart, to stretch their hands wide for embraces.  One calls out the name of his host, another shouts to his kinsman; youth shared on boys' pursuits stirs this man's memory; and he who had not recognized an enemy was not a Roman.  They drench with tears their weapons, with sobs they break their kisses, and though stained by no blood the soldiers dread what they could have done" (169-182; see also Caesar, Civil Wars. I.74-75).  Upon learning of this strange peace, Petreius returns to his camp and chastises his men for their shameful conduct.  His words do not fall on deaf ears: "So he speaks and shook every mind and brought back their love of wickedness.  Just so the wild beasts unlearn the ways of the woods and grow tame in the locked prison, dropping their threatening looks and learning to submit to man, but if their parched mouths find a little gore, their rabid frenzy returns and their throats swell at the memory of the taste of blood; their anger seethes, hardly sparing the trembling keeper" (235-242).  From a purely tactical standpoint, Lucan's account sounds very much like the distorted version of a ruse.  On the other hand, his sole purpose here may be to illustrate the corrosive effects of war on men's mores and values.

254-336.    Again, the Pompeians try to withdraw to Ilerda.  When Caesar cuts them off, however, they stage a desperate, suicidal attack.  This, of course, gives Lucan another opportunity to vilify Caesar:  "'My soldiers, now withhold your weapons and draw back your sword from the enemy's approach:  let the battle cost me no blood.  He who challenges the enemy with his throat is not conquered without cost.  Look! here comes an army, in their own eyes worthless, hating life, destined to die with cost to me; they will not feel the blows, they will fall upon the swords, they will rejoice to shed their blood.  Let this fervour leave their minds, let the mad impulse fade; let their wish to de be wasted'" (273-280).  Unfortunately, Lucan does not explain how Caesar's troops manage to contain the enemy without actually fighting them.  Instead, he concentrates on one of the first symptoms of a war of attrition--thirst:  "Their search for you, waters, made them less able to endure the dry heat.  And in their weakness they do not support their feeble bodies with feasts but, loathing food, they make their hunger help them.  If softer soil showed signs of moisture, with both hands they squeeze the sticky clods above their mouths; if muddy filth lies stagnant on black slime, every soldier dropped down in competition to drink foul draughts, and in death took waters he would refuse if destined to live; and like wild beasts they suck dry the swollen cattle and, when milk failed from the drained udder, the dirty blood is sucked" (305-315).

337-401.    In the face of such adversity, the Pompeians surrender to Caesar.  If there is one character in Lucan's poem who retains an air of nobility, it is the general Afranius:  "He kept his dignity unbroken by disaster, and between his former fortune and his fresh misfortunes he behaves entirely as a man defeated but a general yet, and with a breast free from fear he asks for pardon:  'Had the Fates laid me low beneath a degenerate enemy, my strong right hand would not have failed to snatch death.  But as it is, my only reason for requesting safety is my belief that you are worthy to grant life, Caesar.  We are not driven by party enthusiasm; we did not go to war to oppose your plans.  In fact, civil war found us already generals and we preserved our loyalty to our former cause, as long as we were able. . . . Neither blood poured out upon the fields nor sword nor weary hands finished off your battle:  pardon your enemies for this alone--that you are victorious.  And our request is not large:  that you give rest to the weary and allow us to spend unarmed the life you grant.  Think of our troops as lying defeated in the fields, because it is not right to mingle doomed with prosperous armies or for your captives to share in your triumph:  this throng has fulfilled its destiny.  This we seek--that you do not compel the conquered to conquer with you'" (340-362; see also Caesar, Civil Wars.  I.84).  Caesar relents, and, once they have relinquished their arms, the defeated troops are allowed to slake their thirst and then to return quietly to their homes.

402-447.    The scene now shifts to the Illyrian coast.  Here, on the island of Curicta, a contingent of Caesar's army finds itself in a situation not unlike the one which the Pompeians had faced in Spain:  "[They were] secure from attack if only famine would recede, famine which storms the safest places.  The earth sends up no fodder to feed his horses, blonde Ceres produces no corn, the soldiers had stripped the plain of grass, and when their unhappy teeth had already cropped close the field they tore the withered blades from the turf of the camp' (409-414).  Gaius Antonius (the brother of Mark Antony) orders his men to build three strange rafts, which he promptly uses to transport a small group of soldiers to the mainland.  Marcus Octavius, the opposing commander, deliberately allows this party to cross safely in the hope that it might encourage Antonius to bring more men out into the open.  Sure enough, Antonius evacuates the island.

448-473.    Apparently, a number of men in Octavius' fleet are Cilicians (former pirates who possess a keen knowledge of the sea and nautical strategy).  They hang chains in the water to trap the enemy rafts.  While the first two escape, the third raft is caught, and a small battle ensues.

474-581.  Sensing that their situation is hopeless, Antonius' troops grieve at their fate.  At this point, their captain (a man named Vulteius) delivers a rousing speech:  "'Soldiers, free for no longer than one short night, in this narrow time give thought to your final state.  Life which remains is short for no one who finds in it the time to seek death for himself; and the glory of death is not diminished, men, by advancing to meet a fate close at hand.  Since the period of life to come is uncertain for everyone, praise of courage is equal whether you reject years you hoped for or cut short a moment of life's end, so long as by your own hand you invite the Fates; no one is forced to wish to die.  No escape lies open, all around us stand citizens intent upon our slaughter:  decide on death, then all fear is gone.  Desire what is inevitable.  Yet we need not fall in warfare's blind cloud, when battle-lines are covered by their own weapons mixed with darkness, when bodies lie in crowds upon the plain, every death is merged in a common account, valour is crushed and vanishes:  but we have been set by the gods in a vessel visible to friends and to the enemy.  The sea, the land, the island's highest rocks will provide and give us witnesses, both sides will watch from opposite shores.  In our fate, Fortune, you intend some great and memorable example. . . . Let the enemy know that we are unconquerable warriors, let him fear our courage, frenzied and ready for death, let him rejoice that no more rafts were stuck. . . . Though the Fates bestow retreat and let me go, I would refuse to avoid what is imminent.  I have discarded life, my comrades, I am wholly driven by the spurs of coming death'" (476-517).  Thus inspired, they wait for daylight, make a short but honorable resistance, and then turn upon themselves:  "Determined to die, the soldiers stood with life already renounced, fierce, indifferent to the battle's outcome because the end was promised them by their own hand, and no uproar shook the warriors' resolve, prepared for the worst. . . . When with bloody destiny, brothers charge at brothers and son at father, they thrust their swords not with shaking hand but with all their weight.  The single duty of those who strike was not to strike a second blow" (533-566).  It should be noted that, earlier (472), Lucan stated that the number on the raft amounted to a full cohort (i.e., 600 men).  Furthermore, if there is a connection between this passage and the one mentioned above (337-401; see also comments on 402-447), it is interesting that, this time, the vanquished troops prefer suicide to surrender.

581-660.  Curio, last mentioned in Book III (59), now leaves Sicily for the coast of Africa.  Upon arriving, he establishes his camp near the Bagrada River, where a local inhabitant relates the story of a fight between Alcides (Hercules) and the giant Antaeus (the region's namesake).  After this digression, Lucan notes that the Romans won their first victory over Carthage (in the Second Punic War) at this same site.  In view of this revelation, it is suggested here that the narration of the myth is a literary device used to remind the reader of Rome's former greatness.

661-714.  For a brief moment, the local's story gives Curio a sense of confidence.  When he learns that Pompey's general Varus is assembling his forces along with those of the Numidian King Juba, however, he begins to worry.  According to Lucan, the tribune's fear was justified.  By combining their forces, Varus and Juba probably had the numerical advantage over Curio.  Furthermore, most of Curio's men had been captured at Corfinium (That is, they were former supporters of Pompey.).  Finally, it is even possible that Juba had a personal grudge against Curio, who had formerly tried to reduce his kingdom to a Roman province (689-693).  With these considerations in mind, Curio decides that his best option is to attack quickly:  "'Great terror is masked by boldness:  I myself will be the first to take up weapons.  Let my soldiers--while they are mine--descend to the level plain; leisure always breeds fickleness. . . . When dreadful pleasure comes on with the sword gripped tight, when helmets cover shame, who thinks of comparing leaders?  of weighing causes?  Where he stands, there he sides:  just as those brought out at the shows of the deadly arena are not compelled to fight by ancient rage:  they hate each other as opponents'" (702-710).  For the time being, his instincts are correct.  Varus is forced to retreat (See Caesar. Civil Wars, II.34-35).

715-798.  Juba is pleased to hear of Varus' defeat, for now his own victory over Curio will seem more impressive.  He sends a small force out to lure the Romans into an ambush.  Sure enough, Curio accepts the bait.  Already in unfamiliar territory, his soldiers advance into a valley, where they soon find themselves surrounded by native troops:  "So, totally surrounded, the soldiers are crushed by spears sent slanting from nearby and straight from a distance, doomed to die not by wounds and blood alone but by the rain of weapons and the weight of iron.  So the mighty forces are packed into a little cluster . . . . The crowded men now have no space for wielding weapons and their compressed limbs are ground together:  armed breast is struck on breast and smashed.  The victorious Moors did not enjoy to the full the sight which Fortune gave:  they do not see the streams of gore, collapsing limbs, and bodies hitting the earth:  every corpse stood erect, crushed in a mass" (773-787; See also Caesar, Civil Wars, II.38-43).  Not even Curio escapes but commits suicide.

799-824.  In this passage, Lucan seems to be denouncing Curio for his impetuous actions and their consequences.  A close reading, however, would show that, through Curio, the poet is actually condemning all Romans who take part in civil war:  "This, doubtless, is the penalty, mighty men, you pay to unhappy Rome with your own blood, like this you make atonement with your slaughter" (805-806).