An arrow flew through the gap, ricocheting off the head of a hammer and slicing into a soldier’s cheek. With an oath, he yanked at it and three of the Tenth held him down while the arrow was snapped and the head removed with brutal efficiency. Shields were raised as the second door fell, and two more of the whining shafts struck uselessly against them as the Tenth surged into the room.

The lamps were lit in the royal chambers and Julius was astonished to see two naked girls with bows inside. They cried out in terror as they tried to pull back one more shaft. Almost with contempt, the legionaries stepped forward and slapped the weapons out of their hands. The women struggled wildly as they were shoved away from the doorway they guarded.

The king’s bedroom was dark and Julius knew the first ones through would be silhouetted against the light. His soldiers hardly hesitated, trusting to speed to keep them safe. They leapt into the shadows, rolling and coming up ready to kill.

“He’s here,” one shouted back. “The king alone.”

As Julius crossed the outer chamber, he saw the wall was marked in lighter patches where the bows had been torn from their wires. Other weapons were held against the polished marble and Julius wondered if the boy Ptolemy collected them. The women were concubines rather than guards, Julius guessed, glancing at them. The king could clearly have his pick of the beauties of Alexandria.

Ptolemy’s bed was a huge construction that dominated the private rooms. The boy himself stood part dressed by its side and only the rumpled sheets showed where he had been sleeping. It was strange to see his face in the dim light after their first meeting, and Julius was impressed at the courage of the slight figure standing with his bare chest heaving and a knife held too tightly in his fist.

“Put that away,” Julius said. “You will not be harmed.”

The boy recognized him then and took in a hiss of breath. The soldiers of the Tenth moved closer to the king and with a jerk he raised the blade to his own throat, glaring at Julius.

A legionary snapped out an arm and gripped the king’s wrist, making him cry out in pain and astonishment. The knife was thrown down with a clatter. Ptolemy began to shout for help and the man who held his wrist took careful aim and hit him on the point of his chin, heaving him onto his shoulder as the boy went limp.

“Sound the signal horns. We have the king,” Julius said, already turning away.

“There’ll be more of them by now, waiting for us,” Domitius said, gazing at the limp body of Ptolemy. The king’s head lolled as he was carried back down the corridor, his arms swinging.