"My name is Publius and I thought you might kill her," the young man replied.

He held his head proudly and Julius lost his temper for an instant, rapping him hard across the mouth with his knuckles. Blood drooled slowly down Publius's face, but the eyes remained defiant.

"We are talking about my wife, boy. You have no right to an opinion," Julius said slowly.

"I love her. I loved her before you married her," Publius said.

It was all Julius could do not to kill him. The rage he had expected was banishing the weariness from his mind at last, fueling a restless energy that made him want to cut the arrogant fool down.

"Please don't tell me you expected to save her, puppy? Should I give her to you and wish you both luck? What do you think?"

As Publius began to reply, Julius hit him again, knocking him down. Publius panted hard as he struggled up and his hands were shaking.

Julius saw that blood had spattered across the marble of the entrance hall and fought for control of his emotions. Pompeia was sobbing again, but he could not look at her for fear his anger would become uncontrollable.

"I am leaving Rome in less than a month to fight an army twice as large as the one I have. Perhaps you are hoping that I will leave you two together while I am gone? Or that I may not return, even?" He swore, disgustedly. "It's a long time since I was as young as you, Publius, but I was never such a fool. Never. You've staked your life on a romantic gesture, and the trouble with the great poems and plays is that they rarely understand what it means to stake your life. It means I have my men take you somewhere quiet and beat you until your face caves in. Do you understand? How romantic will you look then, do you think?"

"Please don't," Pompeia said. "Please let him go away from Rome. You'll never have to see him again. I will do anything you want."

Julius turned his cold eyes on her. "Are you offering to be a faithful little wife now? It's too late for that. My heir must carry my blood, girl, without rumor, without gossip. That's all you had to do for me." He grimaced, unable to bear the sight of her any longer. "In front of these witnesses, girl. Three times I say this to you: I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you. Now get out of my house."

She took a step away, unable to reply. Dark circles made her eyes looked bruised. She looked at Publius and they shared a glance of despair.

"I doubt that dry womb of yours will ever be filled, but if it shows life while I am gone, the child will be a bastard," Julius told her. He wanted to hurt and was pleased as she flinched.

When Julius faced Publius again, he snorted at the look of hope on the young man's face. "Please tell me you're not expecting to get through this, boy? You've lived long enough to know what must happen, surely? No one can be that young and stupid."

"If you are letting Pompeia go free, it's enough," Publius said.

His eyes were bright with righteousness and Julius was tempted to hit him again. Instead, he nodded to two of his men. "Take her out and leave her in the street. Nothing in this house is hers."

Pompeia began to scream then, as the soldiers grabbed her and dragged her outside. The sound continued in the background as Publius and Julius looked at each other.

"Will you kill me now?" Publius asked, holding his head up.

Julius was ready to give the order, but the boy's courage was extraordinary. Even in the absolute certainty of death, he remained calm and almost aloof from what was going on around him.

"If it hadn't been you, the whore would have had someone else in her bed," Julius said softly.

Publius lurched at him and the soldiers beat him to the ground with a rain of heavy blows.

"No, I'm not going to kill you," Julius told him, leaning down. "A brave lad like you will do well in my legions. I'll see you get a posting to the front line. You will learn my trade quickly there, one way or the other. You're going to Greece, boy."

In the darkness, Julius could see the stern lamp of a galley like a distant firefly, twitching with the motion of the sea.

"Tell the captain to take us a little closer," he said to Adan. He heard the young Spaniard's feet as he took the message forward, but the gloom swallowed him as if they were all blind. Julius smiled to himself. He had chosen the moonless night for exactly that quality and the gods had given him cloud to mask even the dim glow of the winter stars.

Huddled on the deck and in every space on the galley, the soldiers of the Tenth either dozed or applied one last coat of oil to protect their armor against the sea air. Only utter exhaustion could have dulled their tension into light sleep. They had launched knowing that there was just one chance to surprise the Greek ports. If that failed and the rising sun found them still far from the enemy coast, Pompey's sleek galleys would descend on them and destroy them all.

"No sign of dawn?" Octavian said suddenly, betraying his nerves.

Julius smiled unseen in the darkness. "Not yet, General. The night will keep us safe a little longer."

Even as he spoke, he shivered in the icy breeze and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The wind blew fitfully and Julius had seen the oars reach out for the dark waves three times since leaving Brundisium. At such a pace, the slaves below would be approaching their limits, but there was no help for that. They too would be drowned if they were caught by the coming day.

With only the shuttered lamp from the galley ahead to give them direction, it was easy to think they were alone on the sea. Around them were thirty galleys built in Ostia by the best Roman shipwrights. They carried Julius's fortune: his men and his life. With some bitterness, he acknowledged the fact that there would be no son and heir if he died in Greece. His disastrously short marriage had been the gossip of the city and he still smarted under the humiliation. In the aftermath, he had found a young woman named Calpurnia and married her with unseemly haste. His name had been the subject of comic songs as his enemies mocked his desperation to father a son.

Calpurnia had nothing of the beauty that marked Pompeia. Her father had accepted the suit without a moment of hesitation, as if he were relieved to be rid of her. Julius considered her somewhat bovine features with little affection, even with the gloss of memory. She stirred little passion in him, but she came from a noble house fallen on difficult times. No one in Rome could question her line and Julius doubted she would have the temptations that had undone his second wife.

He grimaced at the thought of their last meeting and the tears Calpurnia had shed on his neck. She wept more than any woman he had ever known, considering the short time they had been together. She wept for happiness, for adoration, and then at the slightest thought of him leaving. Her month's blood had started the day before he took ship and she had cried at that as well. If he failed against Pompey, there would be no other chance to leave more than a memory of his name. This was his path, his final throw of the dice. This was the real game.

He took a deep breath, letting the cold air slide into the deepest recesses of his chest. Even then, he felt weary and knew he should sleep. Somewhere nearby, a man was snoring softly to himself and Julius chuckled. His Tenth were not the sort to be frightened by a little journey of seventy miles in the dark.

The last three days had been hard on all of them. When Julius finally gave the order, all seven legions had marched from Rome to Brundisium, covering the miles at a brutal pace. He'd sent out two fast galleys to chase Pompey's spy ship clear of the coast, and the fleet had launched, moving swiftly to pick up the legions on the other side of the mainland. Even at that late point, Julius had been tempted to hold back the strike until he had a fleet to match the one that Pompey controlled. Yet every day delayed was another for Pompey to entrench himself. Every hour. With the gods' luck, the former consul would not be expecting Julius to arrive until spring.