Deliberately, Julius turned away to help Octavian over the railing. When he faced the captain once more, he showed the first sign of anger.

“Did you not understand the orders I gave you, Captain? As consul, I am the Senate in transit. The orders I give take precedence over any others you may have received. Acknowledge now, or I will have you relieved.”

The captain struggled to reply. It was an impossible position. He was being asked to choose between two commanders and the conflict slowly brought a flush to his cheeks.

“Acknowledge!” Julius roared, standing closer.

The captain blinked in desperation. “Yes, sir. The orders are acknowledged. You have authority. I will send the signals to the other galleys.”

He was sweating as Julius nodded at last and the crew ran to raise the flags that would bring the other captains in.

Julius felt Octavian staring at him and did not dare risk a smile.

“Return to the docks and get the men ready to leave, General,” he said. “We go on.”

Brutus stood on the stone dock, scratching a scab under his sling as he watched the galleys. His arm and ribs were healing at last, though he’d thought being carried in a jolting cart would drive him mad at first. It had been a clean break, but he had seen enough injuries to know it would take as long to build back the muscle as it did to heal the bones. He still wore the sword he had carried at Pharsalus, but he could draw it only with his left hand and felt as clumsy as a child. He hated to be weak. The soldiers of the Tenth and Fourth had grown bold with their sneers and insults, perhaps because he had too much pride to complain. They would not have dared when he was well. Though it burned him, Brutus could do nothing but wait, his fury well hidden.

With him stood Domitius, Octavian, Regulus, and Ciro, their nervousness showing as they strained their eyes on the darkening sea. Octavian had returned with the news and they had all watched as the galley captains were rowed across to meet Pompey’s enemy. No word had come since the last of them had climbed onto the deck and the tension mounted by the hour.

“What if they’re holding him?” Domitius said suddenly. “We’d never know.”

“What can we do if they are?” Octavian replied. “Take those fat merchant ships out to do battle? They’d sink us before we could get close and you know it.” He spoke without his eyes ever leaving the sleek shapes of the galleys as they rocked in the swell outside the port. “He chose the risk.”