"What did you say, Gordianus?" mumbled Tiro, gazing intently at the prospect.

"I said, I'm not a swimmer. I've always been a city boy, you know. Born and raised in Rome."

Tiro blinked. "People swim in the Tiber all the time. Upstream from the Cloaca Maxima, anyway."

"No, Tiro. People splash in the Tiber, and float across on planks, and in dry years they wade across. That's not the same as swimming across a harbor with arrows falling around you."

"Who said anything about swimming?" said Tiro. "Do you see those little fishermen's huts down there, on our side of the channel? Just a stone's throw away, facing the city across the harbor?"

I nodded. The huts were few and spaced well apart. I hadn't even noticed them in the twilight of the previous day, distracted by the battle at the harbor entrance.

"The huts looked abandoned," said Tiro. "No signs of life. The fishermen have all retreated inside the city walls. But they left their boats behind. They're only skiffs, too small to be of any use to Caesar, so they've just been left there, pulled up on the sandy beach. I can see five or six of them from here. We have our choice. I have my eye on that one with the white sail. Less visible than, say, the one with the orange sail."

"Do you know anything about sailing a vessel like that?"

"You might be surprised by the things I know, Gordianus."

"Once we're out in the harbor, what then?"

"We sail directly for the quay. The channel can't be more than a quarter of a mile across."

"What if the current's against us? What if Caesar's men come after us?"

"Then Fortex shall have to row harder," said Tiro.

Fortex rubbed his jaw.

"And you may have to swim," added Tiro.

I didn't like the sound of that.

• • •

We were halfway down the hillside, our horses picking their own path through the bramble, when a voice called out from the ridge behind us.

"You can't go down there! It's off-limits!"

It was the centurion in charge of the lookout. Tiro turned and waved. He held a hand to his ear, flashed a stupid grin and shrugged, as if to say he couldn't make out what the man was saying. "Ride on," he whispered. "Look straight ahead. Ignore him. Head directly for the skiff. Faster!"

We urged our mounts down the hillside and reached the narrow beach. Behind us, I heard the galloping footfall of a horse.

"How many?" said Tiro, keeping his eyes ahead.

Fortex glanced over his shoulder. "Just the one."

"Good. He thinks we're harmless, then. We'll allow him to go on thinking that as long as possible. You know what to do, Fortex."

At the strip of beach between the hut and the skiff we dismounted. The centurion was closing on us. I drew close to Tiro.

"What do you mean to do to him?"

"What do you think?"

"Does it have to be like this?"

"We made a bargain, Gordianus. You took me into Caesar's tent, and I'm to get you into Brundisium. Do you want to come along or not? This is war. Did you think there'd be no bloodshed? Just be glad it's not your blood about to be spilled."

"It's murder, Tiro. As surely as the death of that wagon driver was murder."

"Murder is a legal term, Gordianus. It doesn't apply to slaves, and it has no meaning on a battlefield."

"Perhaps we can simply knock him unconscious… drag him into the hut…"

Tiro made a face. "You muddied your mind reading those Greek novels while we sat out the storm in the mountains. All hairbreadth escapes and happy endings! This is the real world, Gordianus. There's only one sure way to get rid of this fellow. Fortex will see to it. It's what he's trained for. Now smile; we have company."

The centurion rode up. He dismounted and walked toward us. There was a spring in his step; the short, brisk ride had exhilarated him. His smile was a little disdainful, but not hostile. I was only an ignorant civilian after all, a sheep that needed herding, not a wolf. He addressed me and ignored the others. "No civilians are allowed along the shoreline."

I held up the copper disk. "But Caesar himself gave-"

"The imperator has issued explicit orders regarding the shoreline. No exceptions." He raised his voice, apparently thinking I might be a little deaf.

"I… only wanted to have a look at this quaint fisherman's hut."

The centurion shook his head and smirked a bit. I was like a doddering grandfather who had to be indulged, but only to a point. He took no notice of Fortex, who circled behind him.

Blood pounded in my ears. In a matter of seconds it would be done. The young centurion, all flushed and smugly smiling, would be gripped from behind. Fortex would slit his throat- a flash of steel, a spurt of blood. His eyes would widen in shock and then go blind. A living man would become a corpse while I watched.

Beyond the centurion's shoulder, I had only a partial view of Fortex, but from his movements I could see that he was stealthily drawing his dagger. Tiro stood off to one side, playing the dutiful, retiring slave, holding his breath.

I reached for the centurion's shoulder and drew him toward me. Fortex, uncertain, held back.

"Do you have a grandfather?" I said.

"Two," said the centurion.

"I thought so." I walked him away from the skiff, away from Fortex, and toward the hut. "Is one of them a little deaf? A bit doddering?"

"Both of them, actually." He grinned crookedly. I had made him think of home, far away.

I nodded. "Well, young man, I'm neither doddering nor deaf. I can hear you perfectly well. My eyes are good, too. The reason I rode down here was because I saw someone go into this hut."

He frowned. The hut was crudely built, with a thatched roof. The thin door hung on rusty hinges. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I saw a man in rags skulking down here on the beach, behaving suspiciously. I saw him go into this hut. I thought I should come to investigate."

"You should have called me at once." The centurion rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"But I know how busy you must be. It hardly seemed worth bothering you. Probably it's the owner of the hut, come back to fetch something."

"A looter, more likely." The centurion drew his sword. He walked up to the door and pulled it open with such force that the top hinge broke. "You, inside, come out!" He took a step closer, peering into the darkness. I followed behind, pulling my dagger from its scabbard. With one hand I knocked his helmet forward, over his eyes. With the other I raised the dagger and struck him hard with the pommel at the base of his skull. He fell in a heap at my feet.

I sheathed my dagger. "Make yourself useful, Fortex. Pull him inside the hut. And don't harm him!"

I stepped back and scanned the ridge. "I don't think anyone up there could have seen that, do you, Tiro? The hut shielded me from view. Besides, they're all too busy watching the city and the harbor entrance. I've managed to buy us a little time, but before long they'll miss him, or start wondering about our horses on the beach. What are you waiting for? Pull the skiff into the water and let's get going!"

Tiro looked chagrined. "Gordianus, I-"

"You should read more Greek novels, Tiro, and less of that insipid poetry Cicero produces."

Within moments we were in the skiff and away from the beach. Tiro unfurled the white sail. Fortex pulled hard at the oars. I sat in the prow, shivering. I had wet my feet getting into the boat. The water was colder than I expected.

I watched the shoreline. The centurion suddenly appeared at the doorway of the hut, looking dazed and rubbing the back of his head. I waved to him and returned the smug smile he had given me earlier. He staggered out of the hut, shook his fist, and yelled something I couldn't make out.