Belbo and I passed a skin of watered wine back and forth, which kept his tongue loose. Eventually I asked him what orders his master had given to the centurion Marcus regarding the armed company.

His answer was blunt. "We're to kill the pirates."

"As simple as that?"

"Well, we're not to kill the boy in the process, of course. But the pirates are not to escape alive if we can help it."

"You're not to capture them for sentencing by a Roman magistrate?"

"No. We're supposed to kill them on the spot, every one of them."

I nodded gravely. "Can you do that, Belbo, if you have to?"

"Kill a man?" He shrugged. "I'm not like some of the others on the boat. I haven't killed hundreds and hundreds of men."

"I suspect most of the men on the boat were exaggerating."

"Really? Still, I wasn't a gladiator for long. I didn't kill all that many men."

"No?"

"No. Only-" He wrinkled his brow, calculating. "Only twenty or thirty."

The next morning I rose early and put on a red tunic, as the ransom letter had specified. Before I went downstairs to the tavern I told Belbo to find a place in front of the building where he could watch the entrance. "If I leave, follow me, but keep your distance. Do you think you can do that without being noticed?"

He nodded. I looked at his straw-colored hair and his hulking physique and was dubious.

As the day warmed, the tavern keeper rolled up the screens, which opened the room to the fresh air and sunlight. The waterfront grew busy. I sat patiently just inside the tavern and watched sailors and merchants pass by. Some distance away, Belbo had found a discreet, shady spot to keep watch, leaning against a little shed. The bovine expression on his face and the fact that he seemed hardly able to keep his eyes open made him look like an idler eluding his master for as long as he could and trying to steal a few moments of sleep. The deception was either remarkably convincing, or else Belbo was as dull as he looked.

I didn't have long to wait. A young man who looked hardly old enough to have grown his beard stepped into the tavern, blinked at the sudden dimness, then saw my tunic and approached me.

"Who sent you?" he asked. His accent sounded Greek to me, not Cilician.

"Quintus Fabius."

He nodded, then studied me for a moment, while I studied him. His long black hair and shaggy beard framed a lean face that was accustomed to sun and wind. There was a hint of wildness in his wide green eyes. There were no scars visible on his face or his darkly tanned limbs, as one might expect to see on a battle-hardened pirate. Nor did he have the look of desperate cruelty common to such men.

"My name is Gordianus," I said. "And what shall I call you?"

He seemed surprised at being asked for a name, then finally said "Cleon," in a tone which suggested he would have given a false name but couldn't think of one. The name was Greek, like his features.

I looked at him dubiously. "We're here for the same purpose, are we not?"

"For the ransom," he said, lowering his voice. "Where is it?

"Where is the boy?"

"He's perfectly safe."

"I'll have to be sure of that."

He nodded. "I can take you to him now, if you wish."

"I do."

"Follow me."

We left the tavern and walked along the waterfront for a while, then turned onto a narrow street that ran between two rows of warehouses. Cleon walked quickly and began to turn abruptly at each intersection, changing our course and sometimes doubling back the way we had come. I kept expecting to walk into Belbo, but he was nowhere to be seen. Either he was unexpectedly skilled at secret pursuit, or else we had eluded him.

We drew alongside a wagon, the bed of which was covered with a heavy sail cloth. Looking around nervously, Cleon shoved me toward the wagon and told me to crawl under the cloth. The driver of the wagon set the horses into motion. From where I was lying I could see nothing. The wagon took so many turns that I lost count and finally gave up trying to keep track of our direction.

The wagon at last came to a stop. Hinges creaked. The wagon pulled forward a bit. Doors slammed shut. Even before the cloth was thrown back, I knew from the smells of hay and dung that we must be in a stable. I could smell the sea as well; we had not gone too far inland. I sat up and looked around. The tall space was lit by only a few stray beams of sunlight which entered through knotholes in the walls. I glanced toward the driver, who turned his face away.

Cleon gripped my arm. "You wanted to see the boy."

I stepped down from the wagon and followed him. We stopped before one of the stalls. At our approach a figure in a dark tunic rose from the hay. Even in the dim light I recognized him from his portrait. In the flesh young Spurius looked even more like Valeria, but where her skin had been milky white, his was deeply browned by the sun, which caused his eyes and teeth to sparkle like alabaster, and while his mother had worn an expression of anxious melancholy, Spurius looked sarcastically amused. In the portrait he had shown some baby fat which could stand melting away; he was leaner now, and it suited him. As for suffering, he did not have the haunted look of a youth who had been tortured. He looked like a young man who had been on an extended holiday. His manner, however, was businesslike.

"What took you so long?" he snapped.

Cleon looked at him sheepishly and shrugged. If the boy meant to imitate Caesar's bravado, perhaps he had succeeded.

Spurius looked at me skeptically. "Who are you?"

"My name is Gordianus. Your father sent me to ransom you."

"Did he come himself?"

I hesitated. "No," I finally said, nodding cautiously toward the pirate and trying to communicate to Spurius that in the presence of his captors we should discuss no more details than were necessary.

"You brought the ransom?"

"It's waiting elsewhere. I wanted to have a look at you first."

"Good. Well, hand the money over to these barbarians and get me out of here. I'm bored to death of consorting with rabble. I'm ready to get back to Rome, and some good conversation, not to mention some decent cooking!" He crossed his arms. "Well, go on! The pirates are all around us, just out of sight; don't doubt that they'll gladly kill us both if you give them any excuse. Bloodthirsty beasts! You've seen I'm alive and well. Once they have the ransom, they'll let me go. So, off with you both. Hurry up!"

I returned to the wagon. Cleon covered me with the cloth. I heard the stable door open. The wagon began to roll. Again we turned and turned, until at last the vehicle came to a stop. Cleon pulled back the cloth. I rubbed my eyes at the sudden brightness and stepped onto the street. We were back where we had started, on the waterfront only a short distance from the Flying Fish.

As we. walked toward the tavern my heart fell to see Belbo in the very spot where I had last seen him, leaning against the shed across from the tavern-with his mouth slightly open and his eyes shut! Was it possible that he hadn't followed us at all, but had dozed through the whole episode, standing upright?

"I'll leave you now," said Cleon. "Where shall I collect the ransom?"

I described to him the location of the warehouse on the Tiber. He would bring his wagon and some men. Once the gold was loaded, I would go with them, alone, and when they were safely away they would deliver Spurius into my custody.

"What assurance do I have that the boy will be released? Or for that matter, that I'll be released?"

"It's the ransom we want, not you, and not… the boy." His voice broke oddly. "In an hour's time, then!" He turned and vanished into the crowd.

I waited for a moment, then spun around, intending to march up to Belbo and at the very least kick his shins. Instead I collided headlong with a large, immovable object-Belbo himself. As I tumbled backward Belbo caught me and righted me, handling me as if I were a child.