Brutus shook his head, unable to comprehend. In the night, he had thought the shame would kill him and there had been moments when he had wanted the knife he had thrown away.

"The men think you should," he said, thinking of the dark figures and the tainted food.

"They don't understand," Julius said and Brutus hated him for his mercy. Every citizen of Rome would hear how Julius had spared the friend who had betrayed him. Brutus could imagine the heart-wrenching verses the poets would write, until it was all he could do not to spit.

He showed Julius nothing of his thoughts as he looked up at him. This was a new world after Pharsalus, and he had been reborn. Perhaps a new beginning was possible for him. He had imagined casting off the dead skin of the past and finding his place as Julius's friend once more. But not his equal. That had been denied forever by the sickening nobility of his pardon. His life had been given by Julius's hand and he did not know if he could bear to go on.

Despite himself, he clenched his teeth and groaned, overwhelmed by pounding emotions. As if from a distance, he felt Julius's hand rest on his forehead.

"Steady there, you're still weak," he heard Julius say.

Tears shone in Brutus's eyes as he wrestled with despair. He wanted desperately to have the last two years back, or to be able to accept what had happened. He could not bear it. He could not.

He closed his eyes tightly against the sight of the man sitting by his side. When he opened them after an interval, Julius had gone and he was left with the accusing glares of the wounded soldiers. Their fascination prevented him sobbing out his hatred and his love.

The legions of the Tenth and Fourth were tired and gaunt after many days of marching. The carts had been stripped of provisions and the spring grain was still little more than dark green shoots. Their water had soured and they were always hungry. Even the horses of the extraordinarii showed their ribs under a coat of dark dust, but they did not falter. Whenever Julius thought they had reached the end of endurance, another village gave news of Pompey's riders and drew them ever farther into the east. They knew they were closing on Pompey as he raced to reach the sea.

Julius rubbed weary eyes as he stood on the docks and looked out over the gray waves. There were six galleys there, slim and deadly as birds of prey. They guarded the strait between Greece and Asia Minor and they waited for him.

Pompey had reached the coast just the night before and Julius had hoped he would be trapped, forced to face his pursuers. Instead, the Dictator's ships had been ready to take him off. Pompey had hardly paused in his flight and the plains of Greece had been left behind.

"To come this far…" Julius said aloud.

He felt his men look up all around him. If the way had been clear, Julius would not have hesitated. The east coast of Greece was busy with merchant vessels and he could have crossed. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Pompey's ships maneuver over the deep water, their prows white with spray. They could not be well manned, with most able soldiers taken out of them, but that was no comfort. In the open sea, they could tear merchant shipping apart. Even a night crossing was impossible, now that his legions had been seen. He could not hope to surprise the enemy galleys and the response would be brutal.

Despairing, he wondered how many more lay up and down the rocky coast out of sight. They made a wall of wood and iron that he could not break.

On the docks, his men waited patiently. Though Pompey had stripped the port of almost everything, there was water enough to wash the dust from their faces and fill the skins and barrels. They sat in quiet groups of eight or ten across the docks, gambling and sharing what little food they had been able to find. The problem of the crossing was not theirs, after all. They had done their part.

Julius clenched his fist, tapping it on the heavy wooden column he leaned against. He could not turn back and let Pompey go after such a chase. He had come too far. His gaze fell on a fishing boat, its owners busy with ropes and sails.

"Stop those men," he ordered, watching as three soldiers of the Tenth grabbed hold of the little boat before the fishermen could pull away. The sail flapped noisily in the breeze as Julius strode over to the stone quay.

"You will take me to those ships," he said in halting Greek. They looked blankly at him and he called for Adan.

"Tell them I will pay for passage out to the galleys," he said as the Spaniard approached.

Adan produced two silver coins and tossed them to the men. In elaborate mime, he pointed to the ships and Julius until the fishermen's frowns disappeared.

Julius looked at his interpreter in disbelief. "I thought you said you were learning Greek?" he said.

"It is a difficult language," Adan replied, embarrassed.

Octavian walked to the edge and looked into the tiny boat. "Sir, you can't be thinking of going alone," he said. "They'll kill you."

"What choice do I have? If I go out in force, the galleys will attack. They may listen to me."

Julius watched as Octavian handed his sword to a soldier and began to remove his armor.

"What are you doing?" Julius asked.

"I'm coming with you, but I can't swim in this if they sink us." He looked meaningfully at his general's breastplate, but Julius ignored him.

"Go on then," Julius said, gesturing to the frail craft. "One more will make no difference."

He watched carefully to see how Octavian found a place on the slippery nets, wincing at the smell of fish. Julius followed him, making the boat rock dangerously before he was settled.

"Up sail," Julius said to the fishermen.

He sighed at their expressions before pointing to it and raising his hands. In a few moments, the boat was easing away from the quayside. Julius looked back to see the worried expressions of his soldiers and he grinned, enjoying the motion.

"Are you ever seasick, Octavian?" he asked.

"Never. Stomach like iron," Octavian lied cheerfully.

The galleys loomed and still both men felt an inexplicable rise in spirits. The fishing boat passed out of the sheltering bay and Julius breathed deeply, enjoying the pitch and roll of the sea.

"They've seen us," he said. "Here they come."

Two galleys were backing oars and swinging round to face the boat that dared the deep water. As they grew closer, Julius heard the lookouts call. Perhaps a fishing crew would have been ignored, but the sight of soldiers on board was enough to bring them heeling swiftly round. Julius watched flags go up to the highest point of the masts, and in the distance more of the deadly craft began to turn.

His lightness of mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. He sat stiff-backed as the galley sculled toward him and the fishermen dropped the sail. Without the hiss of speed, the only noise came from Roman throats calling orders, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for his own days on the swift ships on a different coast.

As they drew closer Julius looked up at the soldiers lining the sides, wishing he could stand. He felt fear, but the decision was made and he was determined to see it through. He could not have escaped them then, even if he had wanted to. The galleys could outrace the little boat under oars alone. With an effort, he swallowed his nervousness.

The galley's side was green and slick, showing they had been at sea for months while Julius struggled against Pompey. The oars were raised and Julius shivered as cold water dripped onto his upturned face as the boat passed next to them. He saw the uniform of a centurion appear amongst the soldiers.

"Who are you?" the man asked.