'Anything to report?' asked Macro.

'Yes, sir. The last barrel of salted mutton was broached this morning. The hard bread will be exhausted tomorrow and I've halved the water ration.' The trierarch refrained from offering any advice on the troubling supply situation. The decision on what to do about it was not his, nor even Macro's. It was up to the prefect to give the orders to put into the nearest port and reprovision the ships.

'Hmmm.' Macro frowned. Both men glanced towards the leading warship, as if trying to read the mind of Prefect Cato. The prefect had conducted the hunt with a hard-driving obsession. One that Macro could understand easily enough. He had served with Cato for some years now, as his superior until very recently. Cato's promotion had been deserved, Macro accepted readily enough, but it still felt peculiar to have their former relationship inverted. Cato was in his early twenties, a slender, sinewy figure that belied his toughness and courage. He also possessed the brains to plot his way through the dangers that had faced them over recent years. If Macro had to choose a man to follow, it would be someone like Cato. Having served for nearly fifteen years in the Roman legions before being promoted to the rank of centurion, Macro had enough experience to spot potential and yet he had been wrong about Cato, he reflected with a rueful smile. When Cato had trudged into the fortress of the Second Legion on the Rhine frontier, Macro had thought that the skinny youth was hardly likely to survive the hard training that lay ahead. Yet Cato had proved him wrong. He had shown determination, intelligence and above all courage and had saved Macro's life in his first skirmish with a German tribe raiding across the great river that marked the boundary of the Empire. Since then, Cato had proved himself to be a first-rate soldier again and again, as well as the closest friend Macro had ever had. Now, Cato had won promotion to the rank of prefect and for the first time he was Macro's superior. It was an arrangement that both men were struggling to get used to.

The prefect's determination to track down Ajax was as much motivated by a desire for revenge as it was by the need to carry out his orders. Even though he had been tasked with taking Ajax alive if possible, and delivering him to Rome in chains, Cato felt little inclination to do so. During the slave rebellion on Crete, Ajax had captured the woman betrothed to Cato. Julia had been kept in a cage, and left to endure in her own filth and in rags while Ajax had tormented her with the prospect of her torture and death. Macro had been captured at the same time and had shared the same cage, and his thirst for vengeance was almost as powerful as that of his superior.

The trierarch cleared his throat. 'Do you think he'll give the order to put in for supplies today, sir?'

'Who knows?' Macro shrugged. 'After yesterday's little incident, I'm not so sure.'

The trierarch nodded. The previous evening the two ships had made towards a small coastal village to anchor for the night. As they had approached the shore the inhabitants of the cluster of mud-brick buildings had fled inland, taking their valuables and as much food as they could carry. A party of legionaries had cautiously searched the village and had come back empty-handed. No one had remained behind and any food had been carefully concealed. The only sign of something out of the ordinary was a number of freshly dug graves and the burned-out remains of a handful of buildings. With no one to interrogate, the legionaries had returned to the ships and during the night they had been attacked with slingshot. Macro had only been able to see a handful of dark figures against the lighter loom of the beach. The rap of stones on the hulls and decks and the plop of the shot landing in the water had continued all night. Two of the marines had been injured before the rest of the men were ordered to keep down. The sporadic attack ended shortly before dawn and the two ships had set sail at first light to continue searching for Ajax.

'Deck there!' the lookout called from the top of the mast. 'The Sobek is spilling her wind!'

The trierach and Macro stared forward. The sail of the other ship was billowing as the crew released the main sheets to slow the ship.

'Looks like the prefect wants to confer,' the trierarch suggested.

'We'll know soon enough. Bring us alongside,' ordered Macro. Then he turned and made his way back to the cabin to retrieve his sword and vine cane and put on his boots so that he would be more presentable in front of his superior. By the time he had returned to the deck, his own ship, the Ibis, was closing up on the other vessel's quarter. He could see Cato at the stern, cupping his hands together as he called across the swell.

'Centurion Macro! Come aboard!'

'Yes, sir!' Macro shouted back and nodded to the trierarch. 'Polemo, I'll need the tender.'

'Aye, sir.' The officer turned to order his sailors to raise the ship's boat from its cradle on the main deck. While several strained on a pulley rope, others steered the small boat over the side and then it was lowered into the sea. Six men clambered down and took up the oars and then Macro descended the rope ladder and cautiously made his way to the stern seat and sat quickly. A moment later the craft shoved off and the sailors heaved on their oars, propelling the boat towards the Sobek. As they approached the side, one of the sailors lowered his oar, took up a boat hook and caught the rope looped either side of the gap in the ship's rail. Macro clambered forward, steadied himself and waited for the boat to rise on the swell, then launched himself at the ladder hanging down the ship's side. He climbed quickly, before the swell passed and dunked him in the sea. Cato was waiting for him.

'Walk with me.'

They made their way to the bows where Cato curtly ordered a couple of sailors aft so that the two officers would not be overheard. Macro felt a pang of concern as he noted his friend's gaunt features. It had been several days since they had last spoken face to face and once again Macro noted the dark patches round the young man's eyes. Cato leaned forward and rested an elbow on the thick timber of the bulwark as he turned to face Macro.

'What is your supply situation?'

'We can last another two days if I put the men on quarter water allowance. After that they won't be good for anything, even if we do find Ajax, sir.'

A flicker of pained irritation crossed Cato's face at Macro's reference to his superior rank. He coughed. 'Look here, Macro, you can drop the "sir" when no one's listening. We know each other well enough for that.'

Macro glanced round at the men further along the deck and turned back. 'You're a prefect now, my lad, and the men will expect me to treat you as such.'

'By all means. But when I need to speak frankly to you, in private, then we speak as friends, all right?'

'Is that an order?' Macro replied sternly and then his lips could not help lifting a little, betraying his real mood. Cato raised his eyes. 'Spare me the aggrieved feelings of a former fellow centurion, eh?'

Macro nodded and smiled. 'All right then. So, what's the plan?'

Cato concentrated his weary mind. 'Ajax's trail has grown cold. The men need a rest.'

'And so do you.'

Cato ignored the comment and continued. 'Both ships are all but out of supplies. We will turn about and make for Alexandria. We're three days out so we'll need to find somewhere to take on water and rations. I just hope we don't meet the same reception we had yesterday.' He frowned and shook his head. 'That was strange.'

'Perhaps they took us for tax collectors.' Macro shrugged. 'Can't say that I'm impressed by the hospitality of the natives. Hope we get better treatment in Alexandria. If all the gypos are as friendly as that lot then I shall be glad when the chase is over and we get back to Rome, eh?'