There was only a glimmer of light from the cloud-covered moon, but there were torches at points all along the docks, flickers of dark yellow that moved and jumped in the breeze blowing away from the coast. The wind had changed an hour before and all Julius wanted to do was have the anchors pulled up, cut the holding ropes, and be gone. The captain was tied and bound in his cabin, his crew accepting the presence of a few extra soldiers without comment or alarm. It had gone almost better than Julius had hoped, but as he watched the torches snap and flutter, he felt a sudden fear that the quaestor had captured his men and it was all for nothing.

He wished he hadn't sent Prax and Suetonius to the inn. A fight could have started, or they could have raised suspicion with a clumsily told tale of riches on board. It had been too much of a risk, he admitted to himself, his knuckles white against the rail of Ventulus.

There! He recognized the figure of his old optio rushing toward the ship. Julius froze as he searched for Suetonius, but there was no sign. What had gone wrong?

Prax clambered on board, panting.

“Where is he?” Julius snapped at him.

“Behind me. I think his nerve went. We're better off leaving him,” Prax replied, looking back to the dark port town.

In the distance, Julius heard a shout and leaned forward in that direction. Another came, but in the breeze he couldn't be sure what it was. He turned his head left and right, and then he heard the rhythmic beat of legionaries on the move, their iron-shod sandals making a noise on the cobbles that he would recognize anywhere. Ten, maybe twenty, men. Definitely not his. With Suetonius, there were only six others who were coming to the docks on foot. His mouth went dry. It had to be the quaestor, on his way to arrest them all. He knew the man had been suspicious.

Julius turned and looked at the narrow plank that shifted with Ventulus, anchoring the merchant ship to the dockside. Only a few damp sandbags held it steady. He could have the thing up in a second and order the ship under way. Gaditicus was guarding the captain. Pelitas would be with the slave master, ready for the signal to go. He felt terribly alone on the deserted deck and wished they were there to share the wait.

Julius shook his head in irritation. It was his decision and he would wait until he could see who was coming. He squinted at the dock buildings, praying his men would show, but there was nothing and he heard the unseen legionaries break into double time, the crash of their steps coming louder and louder.

When they came out of the dark alleys onto the torch-lit docks, Julius's heart sank. The quaestor was there himself and he led what looked like twenty of his men, armed and moving fast, straight for the line of dark ships and Ventulus.

Suetonius sagged in relief as he heard the clatter of soldiers. He would wait until they had captured the others and slip away at dawn. The quaestor would be pleased then to speak to the man who had given the warning. Suetonius smiled to himself. It would be tempting to stay for Julius's execution, just to catch his eye in the crowd. For a moment, Suetonius felt a pang of regret at the others, but shrugged unconsciously. They were pirates and not one of them had prevented Julius from destroying discipline with his obscene flattery and promises. Gaditicus wasn't fit to command and Pelitas… he would enjoy seeing Pelitas brought down.

“Suetonius!” A voice shouted behind him, almost stopping his heart in shock. “Run, the quaestor's brought soldiers-go!”

Suetonius panicked as he felt his shoulder grabbed by the rush of men out of the shadows. A terrified glance showed him that the giant Ciro was bearing him along without slowing. Yanked out into the open, he could only gape as he saw the grim soldiers of the port streaming toward them, swords bared. He swallowed, staggering onward. There was no time to think. He could be cut down before they knew he had helped them. Swallowing his fear in fury, he ran with the others. There was no chance now for the private meeting between gentlemen he had imagined with the quaestor. He had to get through the chaos alive first. He clenched his jaw as he sprinted, passing Ciro in a few paces.

Julius almost cried out in relief as he saw the last of them running toward the ship. The quaestor's men spotted them immediately and bellowed out orders to halt.

“Come on!” Julius shouted to his men. He flicked his glance from one side of the dock to the other, groaning as he saw how close the quaestor's legionaries were to his own men. There wasn't enough time. Even if Ciro and the others made it onto the deck, they would be followed straight on by the first of the port soldiers.

Julius's heart hammered, making him feel light-headed as he watched both groups make for him. He held still, forcing himself not to move too soon, then turned and yelled over the decks.

“Now! Go, Peli! Now!”

Below him, deep in the body of the ship, he heard Pelitas answer with orders of his own. The Ventulus shuddered as the oars were shoved out of their resting blocks and pressed against the stones of the dock, starting the ship moving over the dark water. Julius sawed furiously at the rope that held them, cutting a gash in the rail as it parted. More shouts sounded below as the crew came awake with the movement, no doubt thinking they had come adrift. Julius knew they had expected another few days in the port, and he had only seconds before the deck would be filled with them. He ignored that problem as the plank to the docks shifted with the ship, the sandbags falling away.

Had he called too soon? The soldiers were less than fifty feet away from his men as the first ones leapt on, turning at bay then and unsheathing their swords. Suetonius moved like a ferret, his legs barely touching the plank as he threw himself onto the ship.

“Come on, Ciro. We're moving!” Julius shouted, waving his sword over his head. The big man was too slow. Without thinking, Julius started to move toward the plank, ready to jump onto the docks with him.

Drawing to a halt, Ciro unsheathed his gladius to meet the charge of the port soldiers.

“Ciro! There are too many!” Julius bawled at him, caught between his desire to help the last of his men and the knowledge that jumping down meant certain capture. The oars heaved out again and the plank fell.

Ciro took slow steps to the edge of the dock, not daring to turn his back. The quaestor's men rushed at him and Ciro lashed out with his fist at the first, a crunching blow that knocked the soldier over the edge and into the water. The legionary's armor dragged him down in a stream of silver bubbles. Ciro spun round then and gasped as a sword took him in the back. His arms flailed, but he roared and launched himself at the departing ship, catching the rail with one hand. Julius grabbed his wrist, looking down into dark eyes mad with pain and energy.

“Help me get him up!” Julius called as he struggled to keep his grip on the sweating skin. It took two more of them to heave Ciro up over the rail, and he gasped as his back tore and bled, leaving a dark smear on the wood where he lay.

“I didn't mean to kill him,” Ciro said between rasping breaths.

Julius knelt by him and took his hand. “You had no choice.”

Ciro's eyes were closed with the pain and he didn't see Julius's grim expression as he stood up and strode back to the rail. It began to swing away from the dock as the slaves found room to drop their oars into the water.

Not twenty feet away, the legionaries glared back, their hatred clear in their expressions. Despite being so close, it was a slowly widening gulf that they were powerless to cross, and as Julius watched them in silence, one of them spat on the stones in disgust.