The legions of the Tenth and Fourth were tired and gaunt after many days of marching. The carts had been stripped of provisions and the spring grain was still little more than dark green shoots. Their water had soured and they were always hungry. Even the horses of the extraordinarii showed their ribs under a coat of dark dust, but they did not falter. Whenever Julius thought they had reached the end of endurance, another village gave news of Pompey’s riders and drew them ever farther into the east. They knew they were closing on Pompey as he raced to reach the sea.

Julius rubbed weary eyes as he stood on the docks and looked out over the gray waves. There were six galleys there, slim and deadly as birds of prey. They guarded the strait between Greece and Asia Minor and they waited for him.

Pompey had reached the coast just the night before and Julius had hoped he would be trapped, forced to face his pursuers. Instead, the Dictator’s ships had been ready to take him off. Pompey had hardly paused in his flight and the plains of Greece had been left behind.

“To come this far . . .” Julius said aloud.

He felt his men look up all around him. If the way had been clear, Julius would not have hesitated. The east coast of Greece was busy with merchant vessels and he could have crossed. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Pompey’s ships maneuver over the deep water, their prows white with spray. They could not be well manned, with most able soldiers taken out of them, but that was no comfort. In the open sea, they could tear merchant shipping apart. Even a night crossing was impossible, now that his legions had been seen. He could not hope to surprise the enemy galleys and the response would be brutal.

Despairing, he wondered how many more lay up and down the rocky coast out of sight. They made a wall of wood and iron that he could not break.

On the docks, his men waited patiently. Though Pompey had stripped the port of almost everything, there was water enough to wash the dust from their faces and fill the skins and barrels. They sat in quiet groups of eight or ten across the docks, gambling and sharing what little food they had been able to find. The problem of the crossing was not theirs, after all. They had done their part.

Julius clenched his fist, tapping it on the heavy wooden column he leaned against. He could not turn back and let Pompey go after such a chase. He had come too far. His gaze fell on a fishing boat, its owners busy with ropes and sails.