"Fill this," he said.

"A sesterce," the man replied, holding out his hand.

Brutus was appalled. So much for honest country farmers. "Fill the skin or your dog goes down the well," Brutus said, gesturing with the sagging bag.

The animal responded to his tone by pulling its lips back in another miserable show of teeth. Brutus was tempted to draw his sword but knew how ridiculous it would look. There wasn't a trace of fear in the farmer or his mongrel, and Brutus had the unpleasant suspicion that the man would laugh at the threat. Under the pressure of the open hand, Brutus swore and dug out another coin. The skin was filled with the same slow care and Brutus tied it to his saddle, not trusting himself to speak.

When he was mounted, he looked down, ready to end the conversation with some biting comment. To his fury, the farmer was already walking away, winding the rope around his arm in neat loops. Brutus considered calling to him, but before he could think of anything, the man had disappeared into his house and the small yard was as still as he had found it. Brutus dug in his heels and rode for Tarentum, the water sloshing and gurgling behind him.

As he headed out of the valley, he caught his first scent of a salt breeze, though it was gone as soon as he had recognized it. It was only another hour of hard riding before the great blue expanse came into sight. As it always had, it lifted his spirits, though he searched in vain for a speck that would mean the galley was out. Seneca and his men would be marching behind him and he did not want to have to dash their hopes when they finally arrived at the port.

The land grew harsher before the coast, with steep tracks where he was forced to lead his horse or risk falling. In such an empty place, he thought it safe enough to remove his armor, and the breeze cooled his sweat deliciously as he strode panting up the last slope and looked at the little town below.

The galley was there, at the end of a thin pier that looked as rickety as the rest of the place. Brutus thanked all the gods he could think of and patted his mount's neck excitedly before taking a long drink from the skin. The land seemed to suck the moisture out of him and the sun was fierce, but he didn't care. He mounted again with a whoop and began to trot down the hill. Pompey would understand his value, he thought. Letters would be sent to all the legions mentioning the Gaul general who had chosen honor and the Senate over Caesar. They knew nothing of his past except what he would tell them, and he would be careful not to boast or to reveal his old mistakes. It would be a new start, a new life, and, eventually, he would go to war against his oldest friend. The sun seemed darker at that thought, but he shrugged it off. The choice was made.

The sun was going down by the time Seneca arrived with his two cohorts. The bustle aboard the galley had increased as the soldiers and crew made ready to sail. It was a relief to see Brutus talking to an officer on the wooden pier and Seneca realized how much he had been depending on the man.

He halted the cohorts, painfully aware of the scrutiny of the galley crew as they coiled ropes and heaved the last of the freshwater barrels up the planking and into the hold. This time, his salute was as perfect as he could make it and both men turned to him.

"Reporting, sir," Seneca said.

Brutus nodded. He seemed angry and a glance at the galley captain told Seneca he had interrupted an argument.

"Captain Gaditicus, this is Livinius Seneca, my second in command," Brutus said formally.

The captain didn't bother to look his way and Seneca felt a surge of dislike amidst the pleasure at his new title.

"There is no conflict here, Captain," Brutus continued. "You were heading for Ostia to pick up men such as these. What does it matter if you cross to Greece from here?"

The captain scratched his chin and Seneca saw the man was unshaven and looked exhausted.

"I was not aware that Caesar had come back to Rome. I should wait for orders from the city before-"

"The Senate and Pompey gave you orders to join them, sir," Brutus interrupted. "I should not have to tell you your duty. Pompey ordered these men to Ostia. We would be with him now if we had not been forced to cut across country. Pompey will not be pleased if you delay my arrival."

The captain glared at him.

"Don't flaunt your connections, General. I have served Rome for thirty years and I knew Caesar when he was just a young officer. I have friends in power I can call on."

"I don't recall him mentioning your name when I served with him in Gaul," Brutus snapped.

Gaditicus blinked. He had lost that particular contest. "I should have known from the armor," he said slowly, looking at Brutus in a new light. "But you're going to fight for Pompey?"

"I am doing my duty. Do yours," Brutus said, his temper fraying visibly. He had had about enough of the opposition that seemed to spring up at every stage of this endless day. He looked at the galley rocking gently in the waves and ached to be leaving the land behind.

Gaditicus swept his eyes over the column of men waiting to board. All his life he had followed orders, and though it smelled wrong, he knew he had no choice.

"It will be tight, with so many. One storm and we'll go down," he said with the last of his resistance.

Brutus forced a smile. "We'll manage," he said, turning to Seneca. "Take them on board."

Seneca saluted again and went back to his men. The pier shivered underfoot as the column approached and the first ranks began to clamber up the gangplank onto the wide deck.

"So why will you be fighting against Caesar? You did not say," Gaditicus murmured.

Brutus glanced at him. "There is bad blood between us," he replied, with more honesty than he had intended.

Gaditicus nodded. "I wouldn't like to face him myself. I don't think he has ever lost a battle," he said thoughtfully.

Brutus responded with a flash of anger, as Gaditicus had hoped he would. "The stories are exaggerated," he replied.

"I hope so, for your sake," Gaditicus said.

It was a little revenge for having been forced to back down, but he did enjoy Brutus's expression as he looked away. Gaditicus remembered the last time he had been in Greece, when a young Caesar had organized attacks on the camp of Mithridates. If Brutus had seen that, he might have thought twice before choosing Pompey as his master. Gaditicus hoped the arrogant general in his silver armor would be taught a harsh lesson when the time came.

When the last of the guards were on board, Gaditicus followed them, leaving Brutus alone on the dock. The sun was setting in the west and Brutus could not look in the direction of Rome. He took a deep breath as he straightened and stepped onto the deck, gently moving on the swell. He had left them all, and for a while he could not speak for the memories that overwhelmed him.

The ropes were coiled and hung as the galley moved out onto the waters, the chant of the slaves at their oars like a lullaby beneath his feet.