Some part of him had imagined scenes where he would return to Rome with his new men, rich and growing in power, to battle Sulla and revenge Marius. In his quieter moments he knew it for a child’s fantasy, but it had sustained him for a long time, a dream that made the months in the cell, the fits, all of it, bearable.

As the day wore on, Julius threw himself into the thousand tasks that needed to be organized as they secured the port area. The orders he gave and the men he spoke to seemed distant, as he tried to think his way through the news he had heard from the dying man. At least organizing the provisions and billets gave him something to occupy him. Sulla’s death left a hole in his future, an emptiness that mocked his efforts.

The merchant Durus found him clearing poison from a well with three of the legionaries. It was common enough for an invading force to sour local water with rotting animals, and Julius was working numbly with the others, pulling up slimy dead chickens and trying not to gag at the smell as they were thrown aside.

“I need to have a word with you, sir,” Durus said.

At first Julius didn’t seem to hear him, and he repeated it more loudly. Julius sighed and crossed over to him, leaving the other soldiers to drop the hooked ropes for another try. Julius wiped his stinking hands on his tunic as he walked, and Durus saw that he was exhausted, suddenly realizing how young the man was. With tiredness banking the fires in him, he looked almost lost. The merchant cleared his throat.

“I’d like to leave with my two triremes, sir. I’ve put my name to a letter saying you hired Ventulus to hunt pirates. It’s time for me to get back to my family and my life.”

Julius looked steadily at him without replying. After a pause, Durus started again. “We did agree that when you found Celsus I would have my ship and the other trireme to make up for the lost cargo. I don’t have any complaints, but I need you to give the order to have your men leave my ships so I can sail home. They won’t take orders from me, sir.”

Julius felt torn and angry. He had never realized how hard it could be to keep some semblance of honor alive. He had promised Durus the two ships, but that was before he found the Greek port ravaged by a war. What did the man expect? Every martial instinct drummed into Julius said to refuse flatly. How could he think of giving up two of his most valuable assets with Mithridates cutting everything Roman from the flesh of Greece?