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were a high-pitched whisper followed by a stifled giggle. At some point Androcles and Mopsus must have awakened and been richly amused by the noises in the room. In other circumstances I might have been angry, but I must have fallen asleep with a smile on my face, for that was how I awoke.
    The smile faded quickly as I remembered exactly where I was. I blinked my eyes at the dim light that leaked around the cabin door. I sensed movement. From outside the cabin I heard the sailors calling to one another. The sail snapped. The oars creaked. The captain had set sail—but to where?
    I felt a thrill of hope. Had we somehow, under cover of darkness, escaped from Pompey’s fleet? Was Alexandria in sight? I scrambled from the cot, slipping into my tunic as I opened the door and stepped out.
    My hopes evaporated in an instant. We were in the midst of Pompey’s fleet, surrounded by ships on all sides. They were all in motion, taking advantage of an onshore breeze to draw closer to the coast.
    The captain saw me and approached. “Get a good night’s sleep?” he asked. “I figured you needed it. Didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
    “What’s happening?”
    “I’m not entirely sure, but I suspect it has something to do with them. ” He pointed toward the shore. Where on the previous day the beach had been a featureless smear of brown lacking any sign of life, this morning it was thronged with a great multitude of soldiers arrayed in formal ranks, their spears casting long shadows and their armor gleaming in the slanting, early-morning sunlight, the plumes atop their helmets appearing to shiver as the leaves of certain trees shiver in the slightest wind. Brightly colored pavilions with streaming pennants had been erected atop the low hills. The largest and most impressive of these pavilions was at the center of the host atop the highest of the hills. Beneath its canopy a throne sat atop a dais—a shimmering chair made of gold ornamented with jewels and worthy to seat a king. At the moment the throne was vacant, and though I squinted, I could not see beyond it into the royal tent.
    “King Ptolemy’s army,” said the captain.
    “And the boy-king himself, if that throne is any indication. He’s come to parlay with Pompey.”
    “Some of those soldiers are outfitted like Romans.”
    “So they are,” I said. “A Roman legion was garrisoned here seven years ago, to help the late king Ptolemy hold his throne and keep the peace. Some of those soldiers once served under Pompey, as I recall. They say the Romans stationed here have gone native, taking Egyptian wives and forgetting Roman ways. But they won’t have forgotten Pompey. He’s counting on them to rally to his side.”
    The captain, receiving a signal from a nearby ship, called to his men to raise their oars. The fleet had drawn as close to the shore as the shallow water would permit. I turned my eyes toward Pompey’s galley and felt my heart sink. The small skiff that had transported me the previous day was headed toward us.
    The skiff drew alongside. Centurion Macro did not speak, but merely cocked his head and motioned for me to board.
    The captain spoke in my ear. “I hear the others stirring,” he said. “Shall I wake them?”
    I looked at the cabin door. “No. I said my farewells yesterday . . . and last night.”
    I descended the rope ladder. Spots swam before my eyes, and my heart began to race. I tried to remember that a Roman’s dignity never matters so much as in the moment of his death, and that the substance of a man’s life is summed up in the manner in which he faces his end. Stepping into the skiff, I stumbled and caused the boat to rock. Centurion Macro gripped my arm to steady me. None of the rowers smiled or sniggered; instead, they averted their eyes and mumbled prayers to ward off the misfortune portended by such a bad omen.
    As we rowed toward Pompey’s galley, I was determined to not look back. With that uncanny acumen a man gains over