'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.

Cato made his way aft and descended into the stern cabin. He was a head taller than Macro and was forced to stoop uncomfortably as he put on the cleanest of the two tunics that he had brought with him from Crete. Then he struggled into the vest of scale armour and fastened the harness over the top. The harness was decorated with the silver discs of the medals he had been awarded during his service in the Second Legion. The unit had been part of the army that had invaded Britain a few years earlier when Cato first proved himself as a soldier, and won promotion to the rank of centurion. Now he was a prefect, an officer singled out for senior command.

But only once his rank was confirmed by the Emperor, Cato reflected. And that was not likely to happen if he failed to find and destroy Ajax, the bloodthirsty rebel who had done his best to destroy the province of Crete. He had also managed to capture the Egyptian grain fleet when it had put into Crete on the way to Rome, thereby threatening to starve the people of the capital. For a brief moment Cato felt a grudging admiration for his enemy. Ajax was the kind of man who understood all the forces in play, and made his plans accordingly. Truly, he was as dangerous a foe as Cato had ever faced and he presented the gravest of threats to Rome itself. Such a danger could never be tolerated and if Cato failed to capture or kill Ajax, then the Emperor would not forgive him. A refusal to confirm his promotion to prefect would be the least of Cato's worries. More likely he would be reduced in rank and sent to end his days in some gods forsaken outpost on the furthest fringe of the Empire. That would mean an end to his military career, but there would be a higher price than that. He would be forced to give up Julia.

The daughter of a senator could not be expected to endure the hard life on a frontier post. She would stay in Rome and find a better prospect for a husband. The thought cut deeply into Cato's heart, yet he would not blame Julia if that happened. Despite his feelings for her, Cato was rational enough to know that love had its limits. The idea of having Julia follow him into exile and growing to resent him for it filled him with dread. Better that he should go alone, and have a memory to cherish, than have his failure compounded by gnawing bitterness.

Cato adjusted his harness, then reached for his sword belt and slipped it over his head on to the shoulder. Lastly, he opened the small chest at the foot of his cot and took out the leather scroll case that contained the orders he had been given by Julia's father, Senator Sempronius, to track down Ajax. A separate document stated that he had been promoted to prefect, subject to imperial confirmation. Between the two documents, Cato hoped that he would have sufficient authority to secure the assistance of the governor in carrying out his mission.

He was not looking forward to meeting the governor again. The last time, Cato had sailed from Crete, on Senator Sempronius's behalf, to ask for reinforcements to put down the rebellion. It had been an uneasy confrontation, and only the threat of being co-opted into the ranks of those who would share the blame for the fall of Crete had induced the governor of Egypt to grudgingly provide the necessary men and ships to defeat Ajax.

Cato picked up his helmet, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then turned to climb back on to the deck, where he could complete his dress without having to crouch down to avoid crushing the crest of his helmet. As he fastened the straps under his chin, Cato watched the trierarch and his men complete the final stage of their approach to the jetty. Mooring cables were tossed ashore to waiting sailors and the Sobek was eased into position, creaking up against the woven mass of reed fenders.

Cato turned to the trierarch. 'I want you to go ashore and find the fleet's quartermaster. I want both ships resupplied as soon as possible. There will be no time for any shore leave for the crews. I intend to put back to sea the moment I have reported to the governor and fresh supplies are on board.'

The trierarch puffed his cheeks and responded in an undertone. 'Sir, the men are exhausted. They've not seen their families for months. A day or two ashore will put heart back into 'em.'