The time would come when he was forced to send the legions out against the army that faced them, he knew. When the moment was perfect, he would try for a shattering blow, but against such numbers he feared he would be leading them straight to destruction. Cleopatra had been invaluable with her knowledge of their tactics and strengths, but the Tenth and Fourth were vastly outnumbered even so. In his most private of thoughts, there were times when he wished he had simply left the city when his time was up. Then he would grow angry in reaction. He would not run from a rabble of foreign soldiers. If he had to, he would find supplies and send for reinforcements from Greece and Spain. The Egyptians would learn what it meant to threaten the life of the man who ruled Rome.

Behind the palace, Domitius was at the window with Brutus, tying his wrists securely to the piece of waxed cloth that would send him sliding into the arms of the waiting legionaries. Moving five hundred soldiers in strained silence was difficult, but there had been no cries of alarm and the plan was moving without a fault.

As Domitius tugged the knot, he felt Brutus looking at him in the dark.

"We were friends once," Brutus said.

Domitius snorted to himself. "We could be again, old son. The men will accept you in time, though Octavian… well, he might not."

"I am glad you spoke up for me," Brutus replied.

Domitius gripped him by the shoulder. "You risked all our lives for your pride and temper. There have been times when I would rather have put a knife in you."

"If I could change it, I would," Brutus said truthfully.

Domitius nodded, helping his legs over the edge. "I stood on the white cliffs of Britain with you," he said. "You killed that big blue bastard with the hatchet when I was flat on my back. That counts for something." He spoke slowly, his voice low and serious. "I can't call you a brother, after what you did. Perhaps we can get by without spitting in each other's bread."

Brutus nodded slowly, without looking round.

"I'm glad of it," Domitius said, heaving him off the ledge.

Brutus gasped as the rope sagged and his initial rush was jerked into a slow descent. Halfway down, when there was nothing but yawning darkness beneath him, he spun and the cloth twisted, halting him. His weakened muscles protested as he swung his legs frantically. With an effort, he managed to turn himself back round and the slide began once more. His arm ached worse than he cared to admit, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and then found himself being held by the men on the roof below. They untied his wrists in silence and handed him his sword, which he strapped to his waist. Like him, they wore no armor and carried no shields. Their faces were black with soot, and only the whiteness of their teeth and eyes in the moonlight showed their positions, spread over the roofs like mold. The hulking figure of Cleopatra's slave, Ahmose, was there with them, unsmiling and silent as he crouched on the tiles.

Before Brutus could step clear, Domitius thumped into his back and sent him sprawling.

"No more to come," he heard Domitius whisper as he guided Brutus through the men to the front.

The tiles creaked under their feet and they could only hope their progress wasn't being followed from below, with archers ready to catch them as they came down. The first roof blended into the next without a gap, but the third was too far away to step across.

"I need a man to jump this," Domitius said.

In the moonlight, the alleyway seemed larger than it had any right to. A young soldier of the Fourth stepped forward and removed his sword. With barely a nod to his officers, he took two quick steps and launched himself over. The clatter as he landed made them all freeze, but already the palace seemed far behind and no one came. The rope was thrown to him, and one by one they used it to cross. Brutus went first this time, trusting his arm to hold his weight. The muscles were sending shooting pains, but the bones held and he reached the other side, sweating but exhilarated.

Four more roofs were passed in the same way before they came to a space too great to bridge. The street below seemed empty as the front rank lay on their stomachs and looked down. At the crouch, they came back and reported that the way was clear, then sent ropes skipping down to the stones below.

Brutus lost skin on his palms as he opted to slide, not trusting his arm to take his full weight yet again. With some misgiving, he realized there would be no retreat that way, not for him. Ahmose landed behind him without a sound. With a smile, he raised a hand to the Romans and strode away into the darkness. Brutus wished him luck in bringing Cleopatra's army. Even if they managed to block the harbor entrance, Julius needed an edge.

The cohort jogged through the streets in almost complete silence. For better grip on the roofs, they had tied cloths around their sandals, and no challenges were shouted as they made their way to the docks.

The harbor of Alexandria was well lit and busy. Domitius halted the men in the last shadows of the road, passing the word for them to be ready. They would be seen at any moment, and after that it would be a rush to block the port before the army could respond.

A voice began to yell and Domitius saw two men pointing in their direction. "That's it, then. We go," he said, running out into the light.

There were never fewer than a dozen merchant vessels working their cargoes on or off the quayside. The cohort of five hundred Roman legionaries raced toward them, ignoring the shouts of panic as word spread. As they reached the docks, they split into four groups and ran up the loading planks of the nearest ships to them.

The crews were terrified at the sudden attack and three of them surrendered without hesitation. In the fourth, two sailors reacted more from instinct than sense, trying to stab the first men to board them. They were cut down and their bodies heaved over the side into the dirty water. The rest did not resist and moved down the loading planks as they were told until the Romans had the ships to themselves.

The sails went up with only a little confusion and the mooring ropes were cast free or cut. All four of the vessels began to ease away from the docks, leaving their shouting crews behind them.

Brutus could see men racing off into the dark streets to alert Ptolemy's army. By the time their night's work was over, the docks would be crowded with soldiers. At least it would give Julius a respite, he hoped. He could not regret having come, and for the first time in months he felt alive enough to cheer as the sails fluttered and the ships began their crisscrossing courses to the mouth of the port.

"Get two men up top, as lookouts," he ordered, smiling as he remembered a time in his youth when he had climbed to that position himself. He did not imagine he could reach it now, but it gave him pleasure to recall the journey across Greece with Renius, when the world lay before them. The legionary who had been first over the roofs was climbing even before Brutus had finished giving the order. Brutus thought he should learn the man's name and was embarrassed that he did not know it. He had been apart from the workings of the legions for too long. Even if he did not survive the night, it felt right to be back in command. He had missed it more than he knew.

Away from the lights of the port, the moon followed their movement on the still, black water. The same barriers that prevented storms from wrecking Alexandria allowed only the smallest of breezes, and progress was painfully slow. It did not suit the mood of the men on board. They all turned to see the great fire on the lighthouse of Pharos, its gleam warning ships for miles. The glow of its flames lit their faces as they passed and they cast long shadows on the decks.