Julius turned his gaze at last to the city, frowning as distant figures resolved into armed warriors, waiting on the docks. He saw bows and spears held upright. The front ranks carried oval shields, though they wore no armor and only a breechcloth and sandals, leaving their chests bare. It was clear enough that they were not Roman. They could not have been.

At their head stood a tall man in bulky robes that glittered in the sun. The man’s gaze could be felt even at a distance and Julius swallowed dryly. Were they there to welcome him or prevent a landing? Julius felt the first prickle of alarm as he saw that the closest soldiers carried drawn swords of bronze, gleaming like gold.

“Let me go first, sir,” Octavian murmured at his shoulder. The legionaries of the Tenth had fallen silent as they caught sight of the army on the docks, and they were listening.

“No,” Julius replied without turning round. He would not show fear in the face of these strange people. The consul of Rome walked where he chose.

The corvus bridge was lowered with ropes and Julius walked over it. He heard the clatter of iron studs as his men followed and he sensed Octavian close at his side. With deliberate dignity, Julius strode to the man who waited for him.

“My name is Porphiris, courtier to King Ptolemy, thirteenth of that name,” the man began, his voice oddly sibilant. “He who is king of Lower and Upper Egypt, who displays the regalia and propitiates the gods. He who is beloved—”

“I am looking for a man of Rome,” Julius interrupted, pitching his voice to carry. He ignored the shock and anger in Porphiris’s eyes. “I know he came here and I want him brought to me.”

Porphiris bowed his head, concealing his dislike. “We have received word from the merchants of your search, Consul. Know that Egypt is a friend of Rome. My king was distressed to think of your armies clashing in our fragile cities and prepared a gift to you.”

Julius narrowed his eyes as the ranks of armed men parted and a muscular slave walked forward with a measured tread. He carried a clay vessel in his outstretched arms. Julius saw figures of great beauty worked into the surface.

As it was placed at his feet, the slave stood back and knelt on the docks. Julius met the gaze of the king’s representative and did not move. His question had not been answered and he felt his temper fray. He did not know what they expected of him.

“Where is Pompey?” he demanded. “I—”

“Please. Open the jar,” the man replied.

With an impatient jerk, Julius removed the lid. He cried out in horror then and the lid slipped from his fingers to shatter on the stones.