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.