The next day the fleet put out to sea and steered east under full sail. A stiff breeze was blowing and the trierarch of the Sobek advised Cato to give the order to take in a reef in order to relieve the strain on the sail, mast and rigging. They were close to the deadline that Petronius had set for abandoning the search and Cato was determined to make the most of the time that remained. He ordered the trierarch to remain at full sail, and signal the rest of the ships to follow suit.

As the sun sank over the horizon, the flotilla reached the small port of Casium and spent the night taking on water and fresh provisions. At dawn, they set sail, heading back towards Alexandria. It was Cato’s intention to search the coastline thoroughly. If Ajax was hiding anywhere, it would be along this stretch of the delta. He was sure of it.

The Sobek cleared the harbour mole as the sun glinted above the eastern horizon. Hamedes lowered himself on to his knees to face the sun and stretched his arms out, eyes closed as his lips mumbled a prayer. He was not alone. Those of the crew who shared his beliefs followed suit and performed the ritual as quickly as possible before returning to their duties. The sails were set, and the sheets hauled in and cleated. The priest, whose rites were more involved, continued for a while longer before he rose to his feet and stretched his shoulders. He caught Cato’s eye and there was the briefest of pauses before he smiled a greeting.

‘I have offered prayers to Isis that you find what you seek today.’

‘Thank you.’ Cato nodded. ‘I think I need all the help I can get.’

‘Sail in sight!’ the lookout’s cry interrupted them.

‘Where away?’ called the trierarch.

‘Dead ahead, sir!’

Cato hurried forward and was joined by Macro, the trierarch and Hamedes a moment later. The western horizon was clear. For a while they stared hard, then Cato thrust out his arm and pointed. ‘Over there!’

The others followed his direction and, as the Sobek lifted on a swell, there was a tiny gleam of white, then it was gone. The trierarch turned and raised his head towards the lookout. ‘Can you make her out? Is it a warship?’

There was a long pause before the reply came. ‘No, sir. Too small. Looks like some kind of a fast yacht. Yes, sir. I’m sure of it. She’s altered course and is making for us.’

‘A yacht?’ Macro scratched his chin. ‘Wonder who’s in such a hurry to find us.’

‘More to the point, why?’ asked Cato. ‘Trierarch, alter course towards that vessel.’

‘Yes, sir.’