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All clear!' he shouted.
    The drumbeat abruptly ceased. The oars were still. The sudden quiet was broken only by the lapping of waves against the ship, the creaking of wood, and the hoarse, gasping breath of the rowers. At my feet, the boy lay collapsed atop his oar, racked with sobbing. I looked down at his broad, muscle-scalloped back, livid with welts. The fresh wounds lay atop an accumulation of older scars; this was not the first time the whipmaster had singled him out.
    Suddenly I saw nothing, heard nothing; the smell of the place overwhelmed me, as if the sweat of so many close-packed bodies had turned the fetid air to poison. I pushed the messenger aside and hurried up the steps, into the fresh air. Beneath the stars I leaned over the bulwark and emptied my stomach.
    Afterwards I looked about, disoriented, weak, disgusted. The men on deck were busy taking down the auxiliary sail from the second mast. The water was calm, the shore dark and silent.
    Marcus Mummius saw me and approached. He was in high spirits.
    'Lost your dinner, eh? It can happen when we rush to full speed and you've got a full belly. I told the owner not to stock such rich provisions. I'd rather throw up a bellyful of bread and water any day than a stomach full of half-chewed flesh and bile.'
    I wiped my chin. 'We outran them, then? The danger's over?'
    Mummius shrugged. 'In a manner of speaking.'
    'What do you mean?' I looked toward the stern. The sea behind us was empty. 'How many were there? Where did they go?'
    'Oh, there were a thousand ships at least, all flying pirate banners. And now they've gone back to Hades, where they belong.' He saw the look on my face and laughed. 'Phantom pirates,' he explained. 'Sea spirits.'
    'What? I don't understand.' Men at sea are superstitious, but
    I could hardly believe that Mummius would half kill the galley slaves to outrun a few sea vapours or a stray whale.
    But Mummius was not mad; it was worse than that. 'A drill,' he finally said, shaking his head and slapping me on the back, as if it were a joke I was too stupid to grasp.
    'A drill?'
    'Yes! A drill, an exercise. You have to have them every so often, especially on a non-military ship like the Fury, to make sure everyone's on his toes. At least that's the way we run things under—' He began to say a name, then caught himself. 'Under my commander,' he finished. 'Really catches the slaves off their guard when you do it at night!'
    'A drill?' I repeated stupidly. 'You mean there were no pirates? It was all unnecessary? But the slaves below are run ragged . . .'
    'Good!' Mummius said, thrusting his jaw in the air. ' "The slaves of a Roman master must be always ready, always strong. Or else what good are they?'" The words were not his own; he was quoting someone. What manner of man commanded Marcus Mummius and could afford to be so profligate with his human tools?
    I looked down at the oars that projected from the Fury, suspended motionless above the waves. A moment later the oars stirred and dipped into the waves. The slaves had been given a brief respite and now were at work once again.
    I hung my head and took a deep breath of salty air and wished I were back in Rome, asleep in Bethesda's arms.
    IV
    I was awakened by a poke in the ribs. Eco stood over me, gesturing for me to get up.
    Sunlight was streaming through the porthole. I rose to my knees on the mattress and looked out to see land nearby with here and there a habitation set among the rocky cliffs. The buildings lower down, nearest the water, were ramshackle affairs, humble dwellings pieced together with driftwood, festooned with nets and surrounded by little shipyards. The buildings higher up were markedly different - sprawling villas with white columns and grapevine trellises.
    I stood up to stretch as best I could within the cramped quarters. I splashed my face with water and sucked in a mouthful, swished it to clean my tongue and spat it out the porthole. Eco had already set out my better tunic.