"Passengers?"

"Only one party, a fellow and his wife-"

"Is that him, beside you?"

I spoke up. "My name is Gordianus. I'm a Roman citizen."

"Are you now?" The centurion peered at me. "How many in your party?"

"My wife, a bodyguard, two slave boys."

"Are we free to sail on?" said the captain.

"Not yet. All ships without exception are to be boarded and searched, and the names of all passengers passed on to the Great One himself. Nothing for you to be alarmed about; standard procedure. Now turn about, and we'll escort you to the fleet."

I cast a wistful glance at the bleak, receding shore. We had not fallen into the clutches of Caesar, or pirates, or renegade soldiers. It was much worse than that. Only one man in the whole world presumed to call himself Magnus, Great One: Pompey. The Fates had delivered me into the hands of a man who had vowed to see me dead.

The "fleet," as the centurion had called it, was a more ragtag assembly than it had appeared to be at a distance. There were a few warships, to be sure, but all seemed to be in varying degrees of disrepair, with thread-bare sails, battered hulls, and mismatched oars. The other ships were transports. The soldiers loaded on their decks had the distracted, ill-disciplined look of conscripted slaves; I had seen enough of those since the outbreak of the war, for both sides in desperate bids for advantage had drafted gladiators, farmhands, and even clerical slaves into their ranks. These soldiers, with their squints and blank expressions and dented armor, were certainly not the crack troops whom Pompey had gathered for his campaign in Greece; those presumably had vanished at Pharsalus, either slain by Caesar's legions or else pardoned and absorbed into Caesar's ranks.

Pompey had escaped from Pharsalus with his life, but not much else. Rumor had it that his defeat had caught him completely by surprise. The engagement had begun at daybreak; as the battle commenced, so certain had Pompey been of victory that he withdrew to his command pavilion to relax and enjoy a midday repast. But Caesar's forces abruptly overran the opposition and sent them fleeing. When they reached Pompey's position, they stormed the ramparts and went streaming into the camp. Caesar himself was the first to reach Pompey's pavilion; when he entered, he found sumptuous furnishings strewn with pillows still warm to the touch, a banquet table set with silver plates piled high with steaming delicacies, and amphorae of fine Falernian wine not yet un-sealed. If Pompey had intended a victory banquet, the celebration had been premature; at the last moment, learning that all was lost, the Great One threw off his scarlet cloak and the other badges of his rank, mounted the first horse he could find, and rode through the rear gate of the camp, barely escaping with his life.

And now, here was Pompey with a ragtag fleet of warriors anchored off the coast of Egypt; and here was I, in Pompey's power.

My stomach growled, and I realized that I had grown hungry pacing the deck of the little ship and waiting for word from the centurion, who had diligently recorded my name before rowing off to his commander's ship for further orders. The Andromeda's captain sat nearby, giving me sidelong looks. At last he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Look, Gordianus, you're not… I mean to say, you're not dangerous-are you?"

I smiled. "That depends. Do you think I could take you in a fair fight, Cretheus? We're about the same age, the same build-"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Am I dangerous to know, you mean? Am I dangerous cargo?"

He nodded. "This is Pompey we've run into. I've never had dealings with the man myself, but everyone knows his reputation. He's used to getting what he wants, and stopping at nothing to get it."

I nodded, remembering a famous comment from early in the Great One's career, when he ran roughshod over the Sicilians. They complained of his illegal tactics in bringing order to their island. Pompey's response: "Stop quoting laws to us; we carry swords!" Pompey had always done whatever was necessary to prevail, and throughout his long career he had never tasted defeat-until now.

"Considering what happened at Pharsalus, I imagine the Great One must be in a rather foul mood," I said.

"So you do know him, Gordianus?"

I nodded. "Pompey and I are acquainted."

"And will he be pleased or displeased when that officer tells him you're on my ship?"

I laughed without mirth. "Displeased to learn that I'm still breathing. Pleased that he has a chance to do something about that."

The captain wrinkled his brow. "He hates you that much?"

"Yes."

"Because you're a partisan of Caesar?"

I shook my head. "I am not and never was in Caesar's camp, despite the fact that my son-my disowned son…" I left the sentence unfinished.

"You have a son who fights with Caesar?"

"They're closer than that. Meto sleeps in the same tent, eats from the same bowl. He helps write the propaganda Caesar passes off as memoirs."

The captain looked at me with fresh eyes. "Who'd have thought…?"

"That such a common-looking fellow as myself would have such a close connection to the world's new lord and master?"

"Something like that. What did you do to offend Pompey, then?"

I leaned against the rail and stared into the water. "That, Captain, is my own business."

"My business, if it means Pompey decides to confiscate my ship and throw me overboard, to punish me for taking you as a passenger. I'll ask you again: What did you do to offend the Great One?"

"Even as Caesar was marching on Rome and Pompey was scrambling to escape, a favorite young cousin of Pompey's was murdered. Just before he left Rome, Pompey charged me with finding the killer."

"And you failed to do so?"

"Not exactly. But the Great One was not pleased with the outcome." I thought of Pompey as I had last seen him-his hands around my throat, his eyes bulging, determined to see me dead. He had been in the process of fleeing Italy by ship, disembarking from the port of Brundisium even as Caesar stormed the city. I'd barely managed to escape, wrenching free from Pompey's grip, diving into deep water, surfacing amid flaming flotsam, dragging myself to the shore while Pompey sailed off to fight another day.

I shook my head to clear it. "You've done nothing to insult the Great One's dignity, Captain. He has no reason to punish you. If Pompey confiscates your ship, it'll be because he needs more room for that sad-looking bunch of soldiers crowded on these transports. But he'll need someone to sail this ship, so why throw you overboard? Ah, but perhaps we'll know the Great One's intentions soon enough. I see a skiff approaching, and I believe it's carrying our friend, that centurion who detained us."

The skiff pulled alongside. The centurion called up to us. "Ahoy, Captain."

"Ahoy, yourself. Your men finished searching my cargo an hour ago. What now? Am I free to go?"

"Not yet. That passenger you're carrying…"

I leaned over the rail to show my face. "Are you referring to me, Centurion?"

"I am. Are you the same Gordianus who's called the Finder, who lives in Rome?"

"I suppose there's no point in denying it."

"You must be a rather important fellow, then. The Great One himself would like a word with you. If you'll join us here in the skiff, we'll escort you to his galley."

Bethesda, who had been standing to one side with Rupa and the boys, drew near and gripped my hand.

"Husband-"

"I'll be alright, I'm sure," I said.

She squeezed my fingers and averted her eyes. "We've come so far, Husband."

"All the way back to where we first began, you and I. Well, almost all the way. We didn't quite make it to Alexandria, but we did see the lighthouse, didn't we?"