"This is the last trip," said Cleon. The words seemed to catch in his throat. "The relay boat is loaded and ready. I'm going with them. And you? Are you coming with us, Spurius?"

Spurius scanned the hills above the beach. "I'm still not sure. But one thing's for certain-this man will have to be silenced."

Cleon stared plaintively at Spurius, then glanced uneasily at me.

"Well," said the boy, "you have a knife, Cleon, and he doesn't. It should be simple. Go ahead and do it. Or do I need to summon another of the men from the relay boat?"

Cleon looked miserable.

"Well? Do it, Cleon! You told me you once killed a man in a brawl, in some rat-infested tavern down in Pompeu. That's one of the reasons I chose you to help me. You always knew it might come to this."

Cleon swallowed hard and reached to the scabbard that hung from his belt. He pulled out a jagged-edged knife of the sort fishermen use to gut and clean their catch.

"Cleon!" I said. "I know everything. The boy is simply using you. You must know that. Your affection is wasted on him. Put down the knife. We'll think of some way to rectify what you've done."

Spurius laughed and shook his head. "Cleon may be a fool, but he's not an idiot. The die is cast. He has no choice but to follow through. And that means getting rid of you, Gordianus."

Cleon groaned. He kept his eyes on me but spoke to Spurius. "That day on the bay, when you swam up to our boat and climbed aboard, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you'd bring me nothing but trouble. Your mad ideas-"

"You seemed to like my ideas well enough, especially when I mentioned the gold."

"Forget the gold! It was the others who cared about that. I only wanted-"

"Yes, Cleon, I know what you really want." Spurius rolled his eyes. "And I promise, one of these days I'll let you. But right now…" Spurius waved his hands impatiently. "Pretend he's a fish. Gut him! Once that's done, we'll climb into the relay boat and be off with the gold, back to Neapolis."

"You're coming with us?"

"Of course. But not until this one is silenced. He knows too much. He'll give us all away."

Cleon stepped closer. I considered fleeing, but thought better of it; Cleon had to be more used to running on sand than I was, and I couldn't stand the idea of that jagged knife in my back. I considered facing him head-on; we were about the same size, and I probably had more experience at fighting hand to hand.

But that didn't count for much as long as he had a knife and I didn't.

My only advantage was that he was acting without conviction. There was heartsickness in his voice whenever he talked to Spurius, but also a tinge of resentment. If I could play on that, perhaps I could stave him off. I tried to think of a way to exploit his frustration, to turn him against the boy or at least keep him confused.

But before I could speak, I saw the change in Cleon's face. He made his decision quite literally in the twinkling of an eye. For the briefest instant I thought he might lunge at Spurius, like a cur turning on its master. How would I ever explain to Valeria that I stood by helplessly while her darling son was stabbed to death before my eyes?

But that was a wishful fantasy. Cleon didn't lunge at Spurius. He lunged at me.

We grappled. I felt a sudden burning sensation run down my right arm, more as if I had been lashed by a whip than cut by a blade. But a cut it must have been-as the world spun dizzily around us I glimpsed a patch of sand spattered with blood.

We tumbled onto the ground. I tasted gritty sand between my teeth. I felt the heat and smelled the sweat of Cleon's body. He had been working hard, loading the gold into the relay boat He was already tired. That was a good thing for me; I had just enough strength to fend him off until a figure came running from the boulders at the end of the beach.

One instant Cleon was atop me, crushing the strength from my arms, bringing his blade closer and closer to my throat; the next moment it seemed that a god had snatched him by the back of his tunic and sent him soaring skyward. In fact it was Belbo who plucked him off me, lifted him into the air and then slammed him to the ground. Only the lenient sand prevented him from being broken in two. He managed to hold on to his knife, but a sideways kick from Belbo sent it flying through the air. Belbo dropped to his knees onto Cleon's chest, knocking the breath out of him, and raised his fist like a hammer.

"No, Belbo, don't! You'll kill him!" I cried.

Belbo turned his head and gave me a quizzical frown. Cleon flailed like a fish beneath the weight on his chest.

Meanwhile, Cleon's three friends clambered out of the relay boat. So long as it was Cleon against me, they had stayed where they were, but now that Cleon was down and outnumbered, they came to his rescue, drawing their knives as they ran.

I got to my feet and ran after Cleon's knife. I picked it up, feeling queasy at the sight of my own blood on the jagged blade. Belbo was back on his feet, his own dagger drawn. Cleon remained flat on his back, gasping for breath. So, I thought: three against two, all parties armed. I had a giant on my side, but my right arm was wounded. Did that make the odds even?

Apparently not, for the fishermen suddenly stopped in their tracks, bumped against one another in confusion, then ran back to their boat, calling for Cleon to follow. I basked for a moment in the illusion that I had frightened them off (with a little help from Belbo, of course), then realized that before they turned and ran they had been looking at something above and beyond me. I turned around. Sure enough, Marcus and his men had appeared atop the low hills and were running toward the beach with swords drawn.

Back in the relay boat, two of the fishermen scrambled for their oars while the third leaned toward the beach, crying for Cleon to join them. Cleon had managed to get to his hands and knees but couldn't seem to stand upright. I looked at Marcus and his men, then at the fishermen in the boat, then at Spurius, who stood not far from Cleon with his arms crossed, scowling as if he were watching a dismally unfunny comedy.

"For the love of Hercules, Spurius, why don't you at least help him to his feet!" I cried, then ran to do it myself. Cleon staggered up and I pushed him in the direction of the boat. "Run!" I said. "Run, unless you want to be a dead man!"

He did as I told him and went splashing into the surf. Then he suddenly stopped. The relay boat was pulling away, but he turned and stared at Spurius, who gave him a sardonic stare in return.

"Run!" I screamed. "Run, you fool!" The men in the boat called to him as well, even as they began to row rapidly away. But as long as Spurius met his gaze, Cleon remained frozen, struggling to stand upright in the waves, his face a mask of misery.

I ran to Spurius, put my hands on his shoulders and spun him around. "Get your hands off me!" he snarled. But the spell was broken. Cleon seemed to wake. His face hardened. He turned and plunged into the waves, swimming after the relay boat.

I dropped onto the sand, clutching my bleeding arm. A moment later Marcus and his men arrived on the beach brandishing their swords.

Marcus satisfied himself that Spurius was unharmed, then turned his wrath on me. "You let one of them escape! I saw you help the man to his feet! I heard you telling him to run!"

"Shut up, Marcus. You don't understand."

"I understand that they're getting away. Too far out now for us to swim after them. Damn! Just as well. We'll let them reach the bigger ship and then the Crimson Ram can take care of the lot of them."

Before I could puzzle out what he meant, Belbo let out a cry and pointed toward the water. Cleon had finally reached the relay boat. His friends were pulling him aboard. But something was wrong; the heavy-laden boat began to tip. The experienced fishermen should have been able to right it, but they must have panicked. All at once the relay boat was upside down.