“Do you think I have a secret password for you?” he snapped. “A special sign to show I am loyal? These are complicated days. There is nothing more I can say to you, except this. If you do not tell me, I will burn this port to the ground and you in it. I will have my men bar the doors and listen to you scratching at them. That is all I offer.” He stared the quaestor down, knowing there would be no hint of a bluff in his eyes.

“Tarentum. He said he would make a landing at Tarentum,” the clerk said, breaking the tension.

The quaestor was visibly relieved to have had the decision taken from him, but he still raised his fist in reaction, making the clerk flinch. Brutus looked for some hint that they were lying, but he was satisfied and then ignored the pair, calculating quickly. Tarentum was a port he could reach in just a few hours of hard riding across an isthmus the galley would have to sail around.

“Thank you, gentlemen; your loyalty will be rewarded,” he said, watching their fear and confusion as they digested his words. He supposed it would be much the same all over Roman lands very soon, as the question of allegiance became more and more important. Civil war engendered a distrust that had already begun to eat at the foundations of their world.

Outside in the sun, Brutus watched the cohorts fill their waterskins from a well in reasonable order. He was tempted for a moment of wildness to have them burn the port as he had threatened. After all, it could well be one of those Julius would use to send a fleet to Greece. He did not give the order, preferring not to send a column of smoke to show their position. There was also a little pride in wanting Julius to make the crossing as soon as he could. Brutus needed just a few months to establish himself in Pompey’s forces, and after that Julius could come and be welcome.

“Seneca, there’s a legion galley heading for Tarentum. I shall ride there. Follow me when you have found provisions.”

Seneca looked at his men and his mouth became a firm line.

“We have no silver to pay for food,” he said.

Brutus snorted. “This is a port without ships. I’d say the warehouses are full of whatever you need. Take what you want and come after me as fast as you are able. Understood?”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“Yes, sir,” Brutus snapped. “Then you salute as if you know what you’re doing, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Seneca replied, saluting stiffly.