Текст книги "The Legion"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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CHAPTER TWO

Centurion Macro swung his legs over the side of the cot and then stretched his shoulders with a grunt before he carefully rose to his feet. Even though Macro was short and stocky, he still had to bow his head to avoid cracking it on the deck timbers above. The cabin, tucked into the angle at the stern of the warship, was cramped. Just large enough to fit his cot, a small table with a chest beneath it, and the pegs on which hung his tunic, armour, helmet and sword. He scratched his backside through the linen of his loincloth and yawned.

'Bloody warships,' he grumbled. 'Who in their right mind would ever volunteer to join the navy?'

He had been on board for over two months now and was beginning to doubt that the small force despatched to hunt down the fugitive gladiator and his surviving followers would ever find them. The last sighting of Ajax's ship had been over a month before, off the coast of Egypt. The Romans had followed, once catching sight of a sail on the horizon, only to lose contact during the following night. Since then the search for the fugitives had proved fruitless. The two Roman vessels had searched along the African coast as far as Lepcis Magna before turning about and heading east, scouring the coastline for any sign of Ajax and his men. They had passed by Alexandria two days earlier, low on provisions, but Cato – the prefect in charge of the mission – had been determined to push his men on to the limit before breaking off the search to resupply his vessels. Now Centurion Macro was hungry, frustrated and fed up with the whole business.

He pulled his tunic over his head and climbed up the narrow flight of steps on to the deck. He went barefoot as he had quickly discovered the disadvantages of wearing army boots on a warship. The neatly sandstoned decks provided little grip whenever they got wet and Macro and the other soldiers had a hard time keeping on their feet with iron nails on the soles of their boots. Two centuries of legionaries had been assigned to the warships to augment the strength of the marines; a necessary measure since Ajax and his followers, most of whom were former gladiators like their leader, were more than a match for even the finest soldiers in the Roman army.

As soon as the trierarch saw Macro emerge on deck, he approached him and nodded a greeting.

'A fine morning, sir.'

'Is it?' Macro scowled. 'I'm on a small, crowded ship, surrounded by the briney and without even a jar of wine for company. Fine doesn't enter into it.'

The trierarch, Polemo, pursed his lips and looked round. The sky was almost clear, only a handful of brilliant white clouds drifted overhead. A soft breeze filled the sail with a satisfying bulge, like an over-indulged epicurean, and there was a gentle swell on the sea so that the ship rose and fell in a regular, comfortable rhythm. To the right the thin strip of coastline stretched out peacefully. To the left the horizon was clear. A quarter of a mile ahead lay the stern of the other ship, leaving a creamy churn of water in its wake. All in all, as good a day as a sailor could wish for, the trierarch mused.

'Anything to report?' asked Macro.

'Yes, sir. The last barrel of salted mutton was broached this morning. The hard bread will be exhausted tomorrow and I've halved the water ration.' The trierarch refrained from offering any advice on the troubling supply situation. The decision on what to do about it was not his, nor even Macro's. It was up to the prefect to give the orders to put into the nearest port and reprovision the ships.

'Hmmm.' Macro frowned. Both men glanced towards the leading warship, as if trying to read the mind of Prefect Cato. The prefect had conducted the hunt with a hard-driving obsession. One that Macro could understand easily enough. He had served with Cato for some years now, as his superior until very recently. Cato's promotion had been deserved, Macro accepted readily enough, but it still felt peculiar to have their former relationship inverted. Cato was in his early twenties, a slender, sinewy figure that belied his toughness and courage. He also possessed the brains to plot his way through the dangers that had faced them over recent years. If Macro had to choose a man to follow, it would be someone like Cato. Having served for nearly fifteen years in the Roman legions before being promoted to the rank of centurion, Macro had enough experience to spot potential and yet he had been wrong about Cato, he reflected with a rueful smile. When Cato had trudged into the fortress of the Second Legion on the Rhine frontier, Macro had thought that the skinny youth was hardly likely to survive the hard training that lay ahead. Yet Cato had proved him wrong. He had shown determination, intelligence and above all courage and had saved Macro's life in his first skirmish with a German tribe raiding across the great river that marked the boundary of the Empire. Since then, Cato had proved himself to be a first-rate soldier again and again, as well as the closest friend Macro had ever had. Now, Cato had won promotion to the rank of prefect and for the first time he was Macro's superior. It was an arrangement that both men were struggling to get used to.

The prefect's determination to track down Ajax was as much motivated by a desire for revenge as it was by the need to carry out his orders. Even though he had been tasked with taking Ajax alive if possible, and delivering him to Rome in chains, Cato felt little inclination to do so. During the slave rebellion on Crete, Ajax had captured the woman betrothed to Cato. Julia had been kept in a cage, and left to endure in her own filth and in rags while Ajax had tormented her with the prospect of her torture and death. Macro had been captured at the same time and had shared the same cage, and his thirst for vengeance was almost as powerful as that of his superior.

The trierarch cleared his throat. 'Do you think he'll give the order to put in for supplies today, sir?'

'Who knows?' Macro shrugged. 'After yesterday's little incident, I'm not so sure.'

The trierarch nodded. The previous evening the two ships had made towards a small coastal village to anchor for the night. As they had approached the shore the inhabitants of the cluster of mud-brick buildings had fled inland, taking their valuables and as much food as they could carry. A party of legionaries had cautiously searched the village and had come back empty-handed. No one had remained behind and any food had been carefully concealed. The only sign of something out of the ordinary was a number of freshly dug graves and the burned-out remains of a handful of buildings. With no one to interrogate, the legionaries had returned to the ships and during the night they had been attacked with slingshot. Macro had only been able to see a handful of dark figures against the lighter loom of the beach. The rap of stones on the hulls and decks and the plop of the shot landing in the water had continued all night. Two of the marines had been injured before the rest of the men were ordered to keep down. The sporadic attack ended shortly before dawn and the two ships had set sail at first light to continue searching for Ajax.

'Deck there!' the lookout called from the top of the mast. 'The Sobek is spilling her wind!'

The trierach and Macro stared forward. The sail of the other ship was billowing as the crew released the main sheets to slow the ship.

'Looks like the prefect wants to confer,' the trierarch suggested.

'We'll know soon enough. Bring us alongside,' ordered Macro. Then he turned and made his way back to the cabin to retrieve his sword and vine cane and put on his boots so that he would be more presentable in front of his superior. By the time he had returned to the deck, his own ship, the Ibis, was closing up on the other vessel's quarter. He could see Cato at the stern, cupping his hands together as he called across the swell.

'Centurion Macro! Come aboard!'

'Yes, sir!' Macro shouted back and nodded to the trierarch. 'Polemo, I'll need the tender.'

'Aye, sir.' The officer turned to order his sailors to raise the ship's boat from its cradle on the main deck. While several strained on a pulley rope, others steered the small boat over the side and then it was lowered into the sea. Six men clambered down and took up the oars and then Macro descended the rope ladder and cautiously made his way to the stern seat and sat quickly. A moment later the craft shoved off and the sailors heaved on their oars, propelling the boat towards the Sobek. As they approached the side, one of the sailors lowered his oar, took up a boat hook and caught the rope looped either side of the gap in the ship's rail. Macro clambered forward, steadied himself and waited for the boat to rise on the swell, then launched himself at the ladder hanging down the ship's side. He climbed quickly, before the swell passed and dunked him in the sea. Cato was waiting for him.

'Walk with me.'

They made their way to the bows where Cato curtly ordered a couple of sailors aft so that the two officers would not be overheard. Macro felt a pang of concern as he noted his friend's gaunt features. It had been several days since they had last spoken face to face and once again Macro noted the dark patches round the young man's eyes. Cato leaned forward and rested an elbow on the thick timber of the bulwark as he turned to face Macro.

'What is your supply situation?'

'We can last another two days if I put the men on quarter water allowance. After that they won't be good for anything, even if we do find Ajax, sir.'

A flicker of pained irritation crossed Cato's face at Macro's reference to his superior rank. He coughed. 'Look here, Macro, you can drop the "sir" when no one's listening. We know each other well enough for that.'

Macro glanced round at the men further along the deck and turned back. 'You're a prefect now, my lad, and the men will expect me to treat you as such.'

'By all means. But when I need to speak frankly to you, in private, then we speak as friends, all right?'

'Is that an order?' Macro replied sternly and then his lips could not help lifting a little, betraying his real mood. Cato raised his eyes. 'Spare me the aggrieved feelings of a former fellow centurion, eh?'

Macro nodded and smiled. 'All right then. So, what's the plan?'

Cato concentrated his weary mind. 'Ajax's trail has grown cold. The men need a rest.'

'And so do you.'

Cato ignored the comment and continued. 'Both ships are all but out of supplies. We will turn about and make for Alexandria. We're three days out so we'll need to find somewhere to take on water and rations. I just hope we don't meet the same reception we had yesterday.' He frowned and shook his head. 'That was strange.'

'Perhaps they took us for tax collectors.' Macro shrugged. 'Can't say that I'm impressed by the hospitality of the natives. Hope we get better treatment in Alexandria. If all the gypos are as friendly as that lot then I shall be glad when the chase is over and we get back to Rome, eh?'

'That might not be for some time yet, Macro. Our orders are clear. We are to hunt Ajax down, whatever the cost, and however long it takes. And that's what we will do until we are issued new orders. No Roman province, nor even Emperor Claudius, can afford to rest easy while Ajax and his followers are still at large. You've seen at first hand how he inspires his followers. He could raise the standard of rebellion anywhere across the Empire, and the slaves would flock to his side. While Ajax lives he is a grave threat to the Empire. If Rome falls, there will be chaos and everyone who lived under the protection of the legions, free and slave alike, will fall prey to barbarian invaders. That's why we must find and destroy Ajax. Besides, we owe him personally, you and me.'

'Fair enough. But what if he's given us the slip? Ajax could be anywhere. He could be at the other end of the Mediterranean, or up in the Black Sea. He might even have abandoned his ship and headed inland. If that's the case then we've as much chance of finding him as finding a straight lawyer in the Subura quarter of Rome. Speaking of which, you have a pretty good reason to return there as soon as possible.' Macro lowered his voice. 'After all that's happened, Julia's going to need you at her side.'

Cato glanced away, down into the blue depths of the sea. 'Julia has been in my thoughts almost every day, Macro. I think of her, and then I imagine her in that cage Ajax kept the pair of you in. It torments my mind, picturing what she went through.'

'We both went through the same thing,' Macro replied gently. 'And I'm still here. Still the same Macro as ever was.'

Cato looked up at him sharply, his gaze intense. 'Really? I wonder.'

'What do you mean?'

'I know you well enough to see how bitter you are, Macro.'

'Bitter? And why not? After what that bastard put us through.'

'And what did he put you through? What exactly? You haven't told me much about it. Neither did Julia before we left Crete.'

Macro watched him closely. 'Did you ask her?'

'No… I didn't want to remind her of it.'

'Or is it that you didn't want to know?' Macro shook his head sadly. 'You didn't ask, and now you are forced to imagine instead. Is that it?'

Cato stared at him and then nodded. 'Something like that, and the fact that I did nothing to help you.'

'There was nothing you could do. Nothing.' Macro rested his elbows on the bulwark. 'Don't take it out on yourself, Cato. That won't achieve anything. It won't help you catch Ajax. Besides, all you have to know is that Julia is a strong woman. Whatever she went through, give her some time and she'll cope with it.'

'Like you have?'

'I'll deal with it in my own way,' Macro said firmly. 'If the gods see fit to place Ajax in my path, then I'll carve his fucking balls off and ram them down his throat before I finish with him. I swear it by every god that I have ever prayed to.'

Cato raised his eyebrows and gave a dry chuckle. 'Sounds like you've managed to put it all behind you.'

Macro frowned. 'I will, when it's all over.'

'And until then?'

'We don't rest until we've carried out our orders.'

'Good. That's settled.' Cato eased himself up. 'Then I'd better give the orders to turn the ships about and make for Alexandria.'

Macro stood to attention and saluted. 'Yes, sir.'

The moment of companionship was at an end, Cato accepted sadly. They were prefect and centurion once more. He nodded at Macro and raised his voice, as if he was an actor declaiming in front of an audience. 'Very well, Centurion. Return to your ship and take station behind the Sobek.'

They turned back towards the main deck and had almost reached the base of the mast when the lookout's voice called from above.

'Sail sighted!'

Cato halted and tipped his head back. 'Where away?'

The lookout thrust his hand out, pointing off the port bow, out to sea. 'Over there, sir. Hull down. Eight, maybe ten miles.'

Cato turned to Macro with an excited gleam in his eye. 'Let's hope it's our man.'

'I doubt it,' Macro replied. 'But he might have seen or heard something of Ajax.'

'That's good enough for me. Now back to your ship and make sail. I'll close on him from the sea, you from the direction of the coast. There'll be nowhere for him to run, whoever it turns out to be.'

CHAPTER THREE

The ship made no attempt to evade the two warships and seemed to wallow, directionless, on the sea. As the crew furled the sail and used oars to manoeuvre closer, Cato could see that the sail was billowing freely. The sheets had been set loose or cut, he decided. The wide beam and high stern were those of a cargo ship and Cato felt briefly disappointed that he had been cheated of finding his prey. There was no sign of life on the deck, and the steering paddle rocked gently from side to side as the waves sloshed against the hull.

To landward, Macro's ship was making the best use of the offshore breeze to close swiftly before using oars, although he would reach the cargo vessel a short time after the Sobek.

'Shall I form my lads up, sir?' asked Centurion Proculus, the commander of the legionaries assigned to the prefect's ship.

'No. I'll use the marines. They're trained for boarding actions.'

Proculus breathed in sharply, offended at having to give way to men he considered his inferiors. Cato ignored him, well used to the tensions between the two services. Besides, the decision was his. He turned to the decurion in charge of the ship's complement of thirty marines. 'Diodorus, have your men formed up ready to board.'

'Yes, sir. Shall I deploy the corvus?' He nodded to the contraption lashed to the deck in front of the mast. The corvus was a gangway, which was raised and lowered by a pulley. A wooden pin at one end allowed it to pivot round, over the side of the vessel. At the far end was an iron spike like a crow's beak. When the device was in position above the target vessel's deck, it was released and the spike would slam down, piercing the deck and pinning both ships together while the marines rushed across and into action. Although there was no sign of life, Cato decided to stick to convention in case there was a trap waiting to be sprung.

'Yes. Use the corvus. If you need to be reinforced we can send over the legionaries to settle the issue.'

Proculus puffed up his chest. 'We'll get the marines out of any trouble, sir. You can depend on us.'

'Glad to hear it,' Diodorus muttered sourly as he made off to issue his orders.

As the Sobek closed on the cargo ship, the deck teemed with armed men taking up their positions. When all was in readiness, they stood still, awaiting the order to go into action. The warship's trierarch slowed the beat of the sailors manning the oars and cautiously brought his vessel up on the stern quarter of the drifting hulk. When he judged that they were making just enough to carry them down the length of the cargo ship, he shouted the order to ship oars.

Cato had put on his full armour and climbed into the turret on the foredeck to survey the other vessel as the Sobek glided alongside. There were dark streaks around the scuppers which faded away as they approached the waterline. Blood, he realised. A moment later he saw the first of the bodies, a man slumped over the side rail. Then more corpses scattered across the steering deck.

'Make ready the corvus!' Diodorus bellowed and there was a grating creak as the gangway swung out, round and over the side of the cargo ship.

'Release!'

The gangway dropped, the iron point curving down, gathering speed, and then it slammed into the deck with a splintering crack.

'Forward marines!' Diodorus cried out, raising his sword as he climbed on to the gangway and raced across towards the other ship. His men ran after him, coarse, leather-soled boots pounding the boards of the gangway. In moments the marines were across and warily fanning out across the deck of the cargo ship.

Cato climbed down from the turret and called out to Proculus. 'You and your men wait here. If I call for you, come at once.'

'Yes, sir.'

There was no sound of fighting, no shouts or cries of alarm from the cargo ship, and Cato left his sword in its scabbard as he strode across the gangway, briefly glancing down at the water washing between the two hulls. Despite being aboard for the best part of two months, he still feared and hated the sea; another good reason to pray that his current quest came to a successful conclusion as soon as possible. When he reached the far end of the gangway, Cato jumped down and looked round slowly. There were bodies strewn across the deck and dark patches of dried blood. The cargo hatches had been dragged aside and the freight below was a jumbled mess of goods: shattered amphorae, discarded bales of cloth and split sacks of rice and spices. Diodorus was squatting beside one of the bodies and Cato joined him.

'There's little sign of corruption.' The decurion sniffed and then touched his fingers to the blood on the deck beside the corpse. 'Still tacky. They were killed only a day or so ago. Certainly no more than two days.'

'If this is the work of Ajax, then we're closer to him than I thought,' Cato mused, rising up.

'Maybe, sir. But equally it could be the work of pirates.'

'Really? Then why take so little, if anything, from the hold? There's a fortune in spices down there. That doesn't make any sense if the ship was taken by pirates.'

'Sir!' a voice cried out. 'This one's alive!'

Cato and Diodorus hurried towards the marine standing beside the mast. He stood aside and revealed a thin, sunburned figure, naked save for a soiled loincloth. At first Cato thought the man had thrown his arms up, but then he saw the broad black head of the iron nail that had been driven through his palms into the wood, pinning him upright, high enough so that he could not fully stand on the deck and had to carry his weight on his toes and the balls of his feet. A faint groan issued from the man's mouth and his breathing was shallow and laboured.

'Get him down!' Cato ordered. He turned towards the Sobek and shouted, 'Send the surgeon over!'

While two marines supported the man's weight, a third grasped the head of the nail and began to work it free. The man gasped and cried out. His eyes, bloodshot and rolling up, flickered open. It seemed to take a long time to get the nail out of the mast and then the man collapsed into the arms of the marines.

'Lay him down.' Cato gestured to the nearest marine. 'Give me your canteen. You and the others, search the ship for any other survivors.'

He leaned over the man as he pulled the stopper from the canteen, wincing as he saw the cracked and bloody lips. Slipping one hand behind the man's head, Cato eased it up and poured a little water over the face. The lips smacked as they felt the water and there was a groan of relief as the liquid trickled inside his parched mouth. Cato fed him some more sips and stopped when he choked and coughed, spluttering as he turned his face aside.

'Thank… you,' he croaked weakly.

'What happened here?' asked Cato. 'Who attacked you?'

The man's swollen tongue licked his cracked lips and he winced painfully before he made his reply. 'Romans…'

Cato exchanged a glance with Diodorus. 'Romans? Are you certain?'

A shadow passed over the deck and Cato looked up to see the mast of the Ibis as Macro's ship drew alongside. An instant later there was a dull thud as the ships nudged against each other. Then the sound of boots landing on the deck. Cato looked up and saw his friend. 'Over here, Macro!'

Macro strode over, glancing round at the deck. 'Looks like they had quite a battle.'

'More of a massacre, I think. But we found this one alive.' Cato gestured towards the torn flesh of the man's hands. 'Nailed to the mast.'

Macro let out a low whistle. 'Nasty. Why would they do that?'

'I can guess. They wanted to leave a witness behind. Someone who might live long enough to report what happened.'

The surgeon from Cato's ship came trotting up with his haversack of dressings and salves. He knelt down beside the survivor and examined him quickly, feeling his pulse. 'He's in a bad way, sir. Doubt I can do much for him.'

'All right. Then I need to find out what I can before it's too late.' Cato leaned forward and spoke gently into the ear of the man. 'Tell me your name, sailor.'

'Mene… Menelaus,' the voice rasped softly.

'Listen to me, Menelaus. You are badly injured. You may not live. If you die, then you will want someone to avenge your death. So tell me, who did this? Romans you said. What did you mean? Roman pirates?'

'No…' The man whispered, and then muttered something more, a word Cato could not quite catch.

'What's that?'

'Sounded like he said worship,' Macro suggested. 'Doesn't make sense. Worship?'

Cato felt an icy thrill as he grasped what the sailor was trying to say. 'Warship, that's it, isn't it? You were attacked by a warship?'

The sailor nodded and moistened his lips. 'Ordered us to heave to… Said they were checking the cargo… Started killing us… No mercy.' The man's brow wrinkled at the memory. 'He spared me… Said I was to remember his name… Then they held me against the mast and forced my hands up.' A tear glistened in the corner of the man's eye and then rolled down his skin and dripped from his ear.

'His name?' Cato prompted gently. 'Tell me his name.'

The sailor was silent for a moment before his lips moved again. 'Cent… Centurion Macro.'

Cato sat up and looked at his friend. Macro shook his head in astonishment. 'What the fuck is he talking about?'

Cato could only shrug before he turned his attention back to the sailor. 'Are you certain? Are you sure he said his name was Macro?'

The sailor nodded. 'Macro… That was the bastard's name… Made me repeat it to be sure… Centurion Macro,' he murmured, then his face contorted in agony.

'Sir,' the surgeon intervened. 'I have to get him out of the sun. Below deck in the Sobek. I'll tend to his injuries there.'

'Very well. Do what you can for him.' Cato eased the sailor's head down and stood up. The surgeon called over four of the marines and ordered them to lift the sailor's body as gently as possible. Cato watched them make their way towards the gangway, and then turned to Macro. 'Odd, don't you think?'

'I have an alibi,' Macro responded with harsh humour. 'Been busy hunting fugitive slaves.' He jabbed his thumb at the sailor being carried across the gangway. 'What's that Centurion Macro business about?'

'It's Ajax. Has to be.'

'Why?'

'Who else would use your name?'

'No idea. But if it is Ajax, why do it?'

'His idea of a joke, perhaps. That, or something else.'

'What?'

Cato shook his head faintly. 'I'm not certain. But there's more to this than there seems.'

'Well, if it is Ajax and his men, then we're back on their trail.'

'Yes, we are.' Cato puffed out his cheeks. 'The timing isn't great, though.'

'What do you mean?'

'We've run out of supplies. Water's almost gone. We can't continue the pursuit until we've replenished our food and water. We'll take what we can find aboard this ship, and then make for Alexandria.'

Macro stared at him. 'You can't be serious… sir.'

'Think about it, Macro. If he has a day or more's head start then he could be over a hundred miles away by now. How long do you think it will take us to find him? How many days? If we attempt it then we run the risk of being in no condition to fight him, or being too weak to even make it back to port. I have no choice. We make for Alexandria. Then we take on supplies, and try to get enough reinforcements to search this area thoroughly.'

Macro was about to protest once more when Decurion Diodorus approached to make his report. 'Sir, my men have searched the ship. There are no other survivors.'

'Very well. Tell your men to bring whatever's left of the food and water up on deck and divide it between our two ships.'

'Yes, sir.' Diodorus saluted and paced back towards the marines milling about the cargo hold. 'Right, you dozy lot! Sheathe your swords and down your shields. There's work to do.'

Macro was staring hard at Cato. He cuffed his nose.

'What is it?' Cato asked wearily.

'I was thinking. You'd better be right about this. If Ajax gives us the slip again while we return to Alexandria, then the gods know how we'll pick up the trail again. It's been over a month since we last heard any news of him.'

'I know.' Cato gestured helplessly with his hands. 'But we have no choice. We have to go back.'

Macro pursed his lips. 'That's your choice, sir. Your order.'

'Yes. Yes it is.'

Three days later the Sobek led the way into Alexandria's great harbour. The vast structure of the lighthouse constructed on the rock of Pharos island by order of Ptolemy II towered above the two warships. The men aboard had all been seconded from the Roman forces at Alexandria to help crush the slave rebellion on Crete and so were used to the extraordinary vision of the lighthouse. Cato, too, had seen it before, but nevertheless paused from his pacing up and down the deck to marvel at the scale of Ptolemy's ambition. Besides the lighthouse, there was the vast complex of the Great Library, the tomb of Alexander the Great and the broad avenue of the Canopus which ran across the heart of the city. Everything about the city was designed to impress visitors and foster a sense of superiority in its citizens.

It was close to midday and the noon sun forced Cato to squint as he looked up at the lighthouse. A steady column of smoke rose from the fire that blazed permanently at the very top of the tower, proclaiming the presence of the city to ships far out at sea, or along the coastline of Egypt.

Cato looked down again, clasping his hands behind his back, and resumed his pacing along the main deck of the warship. It had become a habit since the hunt for Ajax had begun. Being cooped up on a small vessel was anathema to Cato's restless spirit and the routine of walking the deck gave a limited amount of the exercise he craved, as well as time to think.

He was deeply frustrated by the enforced delay in pursuing Ajax. However, there was no alternative. Even with the food and water they had gleaned from the cargo ship, the men were starving and their throats were parched. They were in no condition to fight Ajax's desperate gang of fugitives, most of whom were gladiators. Men who had spent years training to do nothing but fight and kill in the arena. The bodies on the cargo ship had been weighted and buried at sea, together with the sailor who had been nailed to the mast and had expired a few hours after he had been taken aboard the Sobek. A small prize crew had been put aboard the cargo ship with orders to make best speed to Alexandria. The warships had gone ahead, driven on by the prefect in his desire to return to the hunt as swiftly as possible.

'Furl the sail!' the trierarch, Phermon, ordered from the stern. 'Make ready the oars!'

Moments later the Sobek continued towards the naval harbour, lying next to the royal palaces, once the home of pharaohs but now the quarters of the Roman governor of Egypt and his staff. The oars rose, swept forward and fell in a steady rhythm as the ship glided over the calm waters towards the stone jetties where the Alexandrian fleet was moored. Already Cato could see a sentry rushing from the signal tower at the entrance to the naval harbour to report the arrival of the two ships.