The long, straggling line of legionaries picked their way down the cliff, and emerged on to the coarse sand of the beach. Cato paid off the shepherd, and as soon as he had the purse, with its fifty silver denarians — a small fortune for a night's work — he scuttled along the beach and disappeared up another track. As the men reached the beach, one of Cato's officers counted off each section and sent them to prepare for the attack. The force would swim in two columns, one closer to the shore as they made for the beached ships. Cato had been anxious to ensure that each force would remain close together, and the section leaders were tasked with keeping a regular count of their men. The soldiers heading for the beached ships would enter the water at close intervals to make sure that there was a small gap between each section. The first section would make for the furthest ship, and once the intervals were taken into account, it was Cato's hope that the teams would begin boarding the grain ships at roughly the same moment. With luck they would all be taken before the rebels on the shore had realised the danger and could react.

Cato would lead the other column directly towards the cluster of grain ships anchored in the middle of the bay. There was no need for his detachment to be staggered. They would have to keep together, so as not to tackle the ships in a piecemeal fashion.

Once the last of the men had descended from the cliff and had removed their boots and tunics, Cato quietly gave the word to enter the water. Each man inflated his waterskin and then, holding it in his arms, together with the bundle containing his weapons, waded into the sea with the rest of his section as the order was given. Wearing only a loincloth, Cato shivered in the cool night air. He had decided to swim close to the front of the column and allowed two sections to go ahead before he stepped forward with his three men. He had not mentioned to the other officers that he was a poor swimmer. He was ashamed of the fact, and though he had made some improvement since basic training, he was still far short of the standard of capable veterans like Macro.

There was a faint swell, and the waves crunched and hissed on the sand. Cato firmed up his resolve and strode down towards the surf.

The water was cold and he gave a gasp as he waded out into the sea.

A wave slapped up against his chest and he took the opportunity to launch himself forwards, submerging momentarily before shaking his head and kicking out into the bay as he held on to the waterskin bobbing on the surface in front of him.

'Atticus,' Cato called out as loudly as he dared.' On me.'

'Yes, sir,' Atticus replied with a splutter, a short distance from Cato's shoulder.' Come on, you two!'

Cato kicked out with his legs, hurriedly at first; then, as he got used to the water temperature, he realised that he must pace himself if he was not to reach the ships in too tired a condition to fight. It was hard going, and after a while he turned his head and was surprised to see that the cliff still seemed close by. Ahead, as he rose up on the swell, he could see the rebel camp fires glittering over two miles away. There was a faint glow on the hills to the right that marked the Roman camp. By now only the auxiliary infantry and half of the cavalry should still be there. The rest of the column was with Fulvius, making its way behind the hills before cutting across and forming up on the beach, a mile from the end of the rebels'

palisade and the grain ships within. Out to sea, Balbus and his ships would be creeping cautiously round the headland, and would then heave to and wait for the series of three signal beacons to be lit on one of the hills above the bay. Cato took a deep breath and kicked out again, dimly aware of the hundreds of men in the sea all around him, struggling through the swell towards the grain ships and the desperate fight that awaited them.

Julia sat in numbed silence as the old crone dried her hair with a length of wool cloth, rubbing vigorously at the thick dark tresses that dropped down past her naked shoulders. She had long since given up resisting the wizened woman and the burly guard who seemed to be her inseparable companion. After being removed from the cage she had struggled, but the guard had slapped her and then punched her in the kidneys and told her to stop resisting or he would do it again.

There was no chance of escape, and rather than suffer more pain, Julia had given in to the pair of them, allowing her rags to be taken from her. She was sat down on a stool by a horse trough while the woman doused her with several buckets of water, before setting to work with a brush. The grime had worked its way into her flesh so far that it took repeated and painful efforts to shift it.

Julia's cries and muttered protests had no effect and she sat with gritted teeth. It was strange how the filth that had been caked to her body had seemed to hide her nakedness; now, and as it was cleaned away, she began to feel self-conscious under the constant gaze of the guard standing close by. Once the woman had completed cleaning her body and the skin was white and flushed red in places from hard scrubbing, she turned to her long dark hair, thrusting her head over the side of the trough as she ladled water over the back of her scalp and then worked her fingers in vigorously, pulling mercilessly at the tangles until they came free.

As the woman dried her hair, Julia forced herself to think through what Macro had said as she was pulled from the cage. There was a chance of finding something she could use as a weapon in Ajax's tent.

Something she could surreptitiously get hold of. If there was a way to do it, she would attempt to kill him, and the thought of it filled her with a brief thrill of triumph. She felt her heart beat against her breast with excitement at the prospect. Then the woman threw the cloth aside and stuck a comb into Julia's hair. There was a sharp pain that made her cry out as the woman wrenched it through the remaining tangles. She turned instinctively and slapped the crone.

'Take care, slave!'

Julia regretted the outburst as soon as she had uttered the words.

Rage glittered in the old woman's eyes and her hands clenched into claws as she bared her teeth.

'Fucking bitch! Call me a slave!' She lashed out, knocking Julia off the stool. At once she threw herself on the naked Roman, hammering blows at her face as Julia drew her arms up protectively. Fists rained down, battering her shoulders and arms as the old woman attacked her in a savage frenzy.

'Mother! That's enough,' the guard shouted, striding two paces towards them. He grabbed the old woman's wrists and lifted her bodily away.' I said, that's enough!'

The old woman's lips were flecked with spittle as she snarled,

'Let me go! I'll kill her!'

'No you won't! Not unless you want to answer to the general.'

The woman was staring at Julia, and lashed out with her foot, kicking Julia in the stomach. The guard dragged her away and shook her. 'I said that's enough, Mother.'

Julia rolled on to her side with a groan, and felt the long, thin handle of the comb press into her side. She reached for it with one hand and held it against the inside of her forearm.

'You heard her!' the old woman wailed. 'Just like that bitch back in Gortyna. You've seen the scars on me back. You've seen 'em.' She began to sob and be came limp so the guard had to hold her up, cradling her gently in his arms.

'It's all right, Mother. That's over. Shhh.' He brushed her wiry grey hair with his hand.

'What's all that noise?'

Julia looked up to see Ajax striding out of his tent towards them.

His expression was dark and he glared at the three figures round the trough. 'What is going on? Get up!' he snarled at Julia before turning his attention to the old woman and the guard, who regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe. 'Well?'