Somewhere in the distance he could hear the soft hiss of waves on a pebble beach and he thought that was what had stopped their progress. Then, from the dark, he heard creaking and a noise like fish leaping from the water. He squinted into the blackness and saw nothing at first, until a moving shadow loomed up on them, a white flower of foam at the bow.

Caecilius swallowed painfully as the little craft began to rock in the swell from the galley. As it closed on them, he could see the huge oars that dipped into the water and hear the muffled thumping of a drum somewhere close. The galley was going to smash them into splinters, he was sure of it. It seemed to be heading right at them and he knew he did not have the courage to sit and let the keel slice through the boat, taking him down along the slick green spine to be thrown out nicely bloody for the sharks. He began to stand in panic and the oarsman gripped his arm with the casual strength of his profession. A brief, silent struggle ensued before Caecilius subsided. The galley was a towering black mountain over them and he could see the dim light of lanterns on the deck above.

His companions lowered their blades into the water with infinite care, using the noise of the galley's passage to hide their own. With a few strong pulls, they were out of range of the crushing keel and Caecilius swore the galley oars had passed over his head on the upsweep. It was a moment of pure terror to imagine them coming down on the boat, but the oarsmen knew their business and the galley moved on without an alarm being sounded.

Caecilius realized he had been holding his breath and panted in the bow as the two men resumed their steady stroke without a word. He could imagine their scornful glances and once again went through his lists to calm himself.

It seemed forever before they brought in the oars once again and one of the men leapt out into the surf to hold the bobbing craft steady. Caecilius looked down at the black water and clambered out with enormous care, causing the man in the water to swear softly with impatience.

Finally, he was clear of the boat, with gentle waves up to his waist and cold sand pressing between his unseen toes.

"Good luck," one of the men whispered, giving him a gentle push to start him on his way.

Caecilius turned and his companions seemed already to have vanished. For an instant, he thought he heard the sound of their oars and then they were gone and he was alone.

Pompey enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his armor as he waited, his horse whinnying softly to itself. The parade ground at Dyrrhachium had been built after his arrival in Greece and the walls and buildings enclosed a vast yard of hard red clay. The breeze lifted bloody swirls of the dust and overhead, seabirds called mournfully to each other. Three shining legions stood to attention in his honor, their ranks stretching into the distance. Pompey had completed his inspection and wished Caesar could see the quality of the men who would end his pretension to rule Rome.

The morning had passed with pleasurable swiftness as Pompey watched their formal maneuvers. The cavalry units were particularly impressive and he knew Caesar could not match more than a quarter of their number. Pompey had thrilled to see them gallop the length of the great yard in perfect formation, wheeling at a signal and sending stinging swarms of spears to destroy the practice targets. These were the men who would win Rome back from the usurper. Caesar was just the name of a traitor to them and Pompey had been warmed by the earnest support of their commanders as they gave their oaths of loyalty.

Ten legions had marched across Greece to join the evacuated Senate on the west coast, and he had found them well led, disciplined men with high morale. He basked in their indignation at his having been forced from their home city. There was no political weakness to be found in the legions of Greece: he had given the order and they had come. They were hungry to meet the enemy and Pompey had been amused to find that the reports from Gaul had rankled with these professional soldiers. They relished the chance to destroy the vanity of Caesar's veterans, feeling it to be unjustified arrogance. They were good men with whom to go to war.

The quality of the Greek forces helped to diminish the constant irritation Pompey faced from the senators and their families. More than once he regretted bringing them at all, despite the weight of law they gave his position. They complained about the water, claiming it loosened their bowels; about the heat; about their accommodation in Dyrrhachium and a thousand other small gripes. Few of them appreciated how little use they were to Pompey now that he was in the field. Instead of giving him a free rein, they sought to influence his decisions and remain a force in an area for which they were poorly suited. Pompey had been tempted to ship them to one of the Greek islands for the duration. Only the fact that such a decision might undermine his authority prevented him giving the order.

Every eye was on him as he kicked his Spanish charger into a gallop and raced toward the target. He felt the warm Greek air whistle past his ears, and the thunder of hooves merged into a drumming vibration that heightened his concentration. The bag of straw sewn into the likeness of a man seemed to grow, and he thought he could see every stitch of the thread that held it together.

With the lines of soldiers watching, it had to be perfect, but he did not make a mistake. As the spear left his hand, he knew it would strike. The eyes of professional men followed the path of the spear and there were many who knew it was good before the straw figure jerked, twisting around with the impact. They cheered and Pompey raised his hand in salute, breathing hard. His face was pouring with sweat and his right shoulder ached terribly, answered by a blooming spot of pain in his gut. He had felt muscles tear as he released, but that did not matter. Romans respected strength and the demonstration would give them pride in their commander.

Pompey turned and rode along the line of men, noting their fierce faces and discipline. Only their commanding officer, Labienus, met his eyes and saluted as Pompey reined in.

"I am pleased with them, Labienus," Pompey said, loud enough for the legionaries to hear. "Dismiss them to eat, but not too much on each plate. I want them lean and hungry." His voice dropped to a more conversational tone. "Accompany me to the temple, General. There is much still to discuss."

"Yes, sir," Labienus replied. His sharp eyes noted how Pompey favored his right arm, but it would be disrespectful to mention it if Pompey chose not to. Labienus was pleased to see no sign of discomfort on Pompey's flushed face. The Dictator was a hard, proud man and he cut a fine figure on a horse, even at his age. "They are always hungry, sir," Labienus added. "They will not disappoint you."

"No, they will not," Pompey told him grimly. "They will scatter Caesar's raptores like seeds on the wind."

Labienus bowed his head in response, his eyes cast down. It was no hardship to show honor to such a man. What he had seen of Pompey had impressed him since his arrival. The Dictator carried his authority with an ease and dignity the men respected. Labienus knew the legionaries were confident and in truth many would welcome the chance to fight against a traitor. Greece had been peaceful for too long for some, especially those who hoped for a bright career. As the lowest spear-carrier knew well, war brought promotion far faster than peace. The very least of them would be hoping to make his name against Caesar, to become a centurion and a respected member of the officer class.

Pompey waited while Labienus mounted his own gelding and was pleased to find nothing to fault in the man or his manner. The general was physically unremarkable, with hair shaved close to his head and dark eyes in a face of hard planes. His record was excellent and Pompey had felt no qualms about including him in his councils. There was a solidity to Labienus that he appreciated, almost an antidote to the poisonous intrigues of the Senate. Officers such as he could be found in every port and city that bowed its head to Roman law. They took no bribes, nor wavered in their loyalty. Their iron discipline kept posts for years, and when they went to war, they knew no equals in the field. They were the hard bones of Rome. Pompey nodded to Labienus, showing his pleasure.