The last of the merchant ships crackled into flame behind him, making him turn and look out to sea. There were lives who would be affected, he thought. The owners would be beggared at a stroke, to make sure that Caesar would not have a fleet to follow before Pompey was ready. Even at a distance, the roar of flames was impressive, and Pompey watched as they reached the sail and engulfed the tarry cloth in an instant. The small ship began to settle and he hoped his men had the sense to get well clear on the boats before she sank.

Three sturdy triremes waited for the final members of the Senate and Pompey himself. They rocked in the swell as the great oars were greased in their locks and checked for fouling. The wind was running out to sea with the tide. It was fitting that Pompey should be the last to leave, and he knew it was time, but he couldn’t break the mood that held him on shore.

Had there ever been a choice? He had thought himself clever when he sent the order for Julius to return. Any other general would have come with just a few guards and Pompey would have made a quick, neat end to it. Even now, he could not be sure why Julius had gambled everything on his rush south. Regulus had obviously failed and Pompey assumed he had died trying to fulfill his last orders. Perhaps the man’s clumsy attempt had given Julius the truth of his master. He could not imagine Regulus breaking under torture, but perhaps that was foolishness. Experience had taught him that any man could be broken in enough time. It was just necessary to find the levers into his soul. Even so, he would not have thought there was a lever made to open Regulus.

Pompey saw the last boat from his ship bump against the quayside and Suetonius jump onto the docks. He watched as the younger man marched up the hill, stiff with self-importance. Pompey turned back toward the city he could feel in the distance. Ahenobarbus had not come and Pompey doubted he still lived. It had been a blow to lose the men he had with him, but if he had slowed Julius at all, it would have been worth it. Pompey could not believe how difficult it had been to uproot the senators from their homes. He had been tempted to abandon the endless crates of their possessions on the quayside for the merchant sailors to pick through. Their wives and children had been bad enough, but he had drawn a line at more than three slaves to each family, and hundreds had been sent back to the city. Every ship and trireme for a hundred miles up and down the coast had been called in, and only a few were left empty and burnt.