"Consul Gaius Julius Caesar," Julius replied. "Throw me a rope."

The motion of the two vessels made it impossible for him to hold the centurion's gaze, though Julius tried. He appreciated the man's difficulty. No doubt Pompey had given strict orders to sink and burn those who followed.

Julius did not smile as a long rope ladder came clattering down the side of the galley, its weighted ends disappearing beneath the surface of the sea. With difficulty, he reached for it, ignoring the warning shouts of the fishermen as their boat threatened to spill.

He climbed carefully. It did not help his composure to be watched by the crews of more than three galleys close by, nor the thought that his armor would drown him if he fell. His breathing was heavy by the time he reached the railing and accepted the captain's arm to help him over it. The ropes creaked as Octavian followed him up.

"And your name, Captain?" Julius said as soon as he stood on the deck.

The officer did not reply and stood frowning, tapping one hand on the other.

"Then I will tell you mine once more. I am Julius Caesar. I am Consul of Rome and the only elected authority you are sworn to serve. All orders given by Pompey are revoked. You are under my command as of this moment."

The captain opened his mouth but Julius went on, unwilling to lose the momentary advantage. He spoke as if there was not the slightest chance of being disobeyed.

"You will pass the word to the other galleys to summon their captains here to be given orders. I have six thousand men and horses waiting to be picked up on the docks. You are my transport to Asia Minor, Captain."

Deliberately, Julius turned away to help Octavian over the railing. When he faced the captain once more, he showed the first sign of anger.

"Did you not understand the orders I gave you, Captain? As consul, I am the Senate in transit. The orders I give take precedence over any others you may have received. Acknowledge now, or I will have you relieved."

The captain struggled to reply. It was an impossible position. He was being asked to choose between two commanders and the conflict slowly brought a flush to his cheeks.

"Acknowledge!" Julius roared, standing closer.

The captain blinked in desperation. "Yes, sir. The orders are acknowledged. You have authority. I will send the signals to the other galleys."

He was sweating as Julius nodded at last and the crew ran to raise the flags that would bring the other captains in.

Julius felt Octavian staring at him and did not dare risk a smile.

"Return to the docks and get the men ready to leave, General," he said. "We go on."

Brutus stood on the stone dock, scratching a scab under his sling as he watched the galleys. His arm and ribs were healing at last, though he'd thought being carried in a jolting cart would drive him mad at first. It had been a clean break, but he had seen enough injuries to know it would take as long to build back the muscle as it did to heal the bones. He still wore the sword he had carried at Pharsalus, but he could draw it only with his left hand and felt as clumsy as a child. He hated to be weak. The soldiers of the Tenth and Fourth had grown bold with their sneers and insults, perhaps because he had too much pride to complain. They would not have dared when he was well. Though it burned him, Brutus could do nothing but wait, his fury well hidden.

With him stood Domitius, Octavian, Regulus, and Ciro, their nervousness showing as they strained their eyes on the darkening sea. Octavian had returned with the news and they had all watched as the galley captains were rowed across to meet Pompey's enemy. No word had come since the last of them had climbed onto the deck and the tension mounted by the hour.

"What if they're holding him?" Domitius said suddenly. "We'd never know."

"What can we do if they are?" Octavian replied. "Take those fat merchant ships out to do battle? They'd sink us before we could get close and you know it." He spoke without his eyes ever leaving the sleek shapes of the galleys as they rocked in the swell outside the port. "He chose the risk."

Ciro glanced at the setting sun, frowning to himself. "If he's not back by dark, we could slip out. If we packed onto a single ship, we'd have enough to storm one of the galleys. Take one and you can take another."

Brutus looked at him in surprise. The years had subtly altered the men he thought he knew. Ciro had become accustomed to command and his confidence had grown. Brutus replied without thinking.

"If they hold him, they'll expect us to try that. They'll anchor as far out as they can get and spend the night in close formation. That's if they don't head straight for Asia Minor with Julius, to give him to Pompey."

Octavian stiffened as he spoke. "Shut your mouth," he said flatly. "You hold no command. You are here only because my general did not see fit to execute you. You have nothing to say to us."

Brutus glared back at him, but dropped his gaze under the combined stares of the men he had known. It did not matter, he told himself, though he was surprised how much they could still hurt him. He noted how they looked to Octavian in Julius's absence. Perhaps it was something in the blood. He took a deep, angry breath and his right hand twitched in the sling before he gained control.

"I don't think-" he began.

Octavian rounded on him. "If it were my choice, I would nail you to a cross on these docks. Do you think the men would object?"

Brutus did not have to consider it. He knew the answer very well indeed. "No, they'd love a chance at me. But you won't let them, will you, boy? You'll follow his orders even if it means everything you value is destroyed."

"You can still try to justify what you did?" Octavian demanded. "There aren't words enough. I don't understand why he brought you here, but I will tell you this. If Julius expects you back as one of us, I won't do it. The first time you ever try to give me an order, I'll cut your throat."

Brutus narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. "You're brave now, boy, but bones heal. When they do…"

"I'll do it now!" Octavian said, raging.

He surged at Brutus, and Regulus and Ciro grabbed hold of his arm as it came up with a blade. Brutus staggered back out of range.

"I wonder how you would explain killing me to Julius," he said. His eyes were full of malice as the younger man struggled to reach him. "He can be cruel as well, Octavian. Perhaps that's why he let me live."

Octavian subsided as Ciro prized the knife from his hand.

"You think you'll heal, Brutus?" he said. "What if I had the men take you somewhere quiet and smash your arm properly? They could shatter your hand so badly you'd never use a sword again."

Octavian smiled as he saw a trace of fear in Brutus's eyes.

"That would hurt you, wouldn't it? You'd never ride a horse, or write your name, even. That would break the arrogance out of you at last."

"Ah, you're a noble man, Octavian," Brutus said. "I wish I had your principles."

Octavian went on, his hatred barely in check. "One more word out of you and I'll do it. No one will stop me, not to save you. They know you deserve it. Go on, General. One more word."

Brutus stared at him for a long time, then shook his head in disgust before turning and walking away from the group. Octavian nodded sharply, shaking with reaction. He hardly felt Domitius's grip on his shoulder, steadying him.

"You shouldn't let it show," Domitius said softly, looking after the broken man he had once revered.

Octavian snorted. "I can't help it. After all he's done, he stands with us as if he has a right. I don't know what Julius was thinking, bringing him here."

"Neither do I," Domitius replied. "It's between them, though."

Regulus hissed in a breath, making them all turn back to the sea. As the sun sank in the west, the galleys were moving, their great oars sweeping them in toward the dock.