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course due east,’ the sailor ordered. The steersmen grunted as they hauled the massive oars against the force of the waters rushing below the hull and the sailmaster, a tall Nubian, trimmed the sails to make the best speed on their new course. Valerius watched as the two naval galleys kept station, sleek and narrow as a pair of dolphins, three ship-lengths off the bow. Aurelius reached up to touch the
tutela
, the carved talisman of Poseidon that protected the ship. ‘If the wind gods favour us we’ll make landfall on the Achaean coast two hours before dark. I have a mind to anchor up early today. The lady Domitia has graciously invited us to join her for dinner.’
    Aurelius misinterpreted Valerius’s look of alarm. ‘Yes, it is unusual, but she is an unusual young woman. Her father’s daughter, I would say. Her mother died in Antioch two months ago, after a long illness, and the Emperor offered the use of this ship as soon as he heard. She bears her grief like a soldier. Your companion the young tribune is also invited to attend, as well as the commanders of the two
classis
galleys.’
    The master’s entreaty to Poseidon must have been successful because the
Cygnet
and her two outriders cut an arrow-straight furrow across the cobalt waters of the Aegean and they anchored in a sheltered bay with the mountains of central Achaea a brown haze in the distance when the sun was still well above the western horizon. Valerius could make out a settlement on the far side of the bay. After consulting with their host’s freedwoman, a widow called Tulia whose every disappointment was written in her curled lip and small, suspicious eyes, Aurelius sent a swimmer to organize fresh fruit and vegetables and anything else that would enhance the meal, while a rough table built by the ship’s carpenter was set up in front of the lady Domitia’s curtained tent. The arrival of an imperial ship had caused a sensation in the village, and within an hour small boats were ferrying back and forth with the produce of the land. Others, filled with spectators, simply anchored while the occupants stared in awe at the great gold-painted hull.
    ‘Keep them away unless they have something to sell,’ Aurelius roared as one boat came too close to his paintwork. ‘I don’t want any thieving Greek getting on board this ship.’
    Valerius washed on deck in a bucket of sea water, and Serpentius erected a curtain to allow him to dress in privacy. Over his best tunic with the broad stripe of a senior tribune on the hem and sleeves he wore a moulded leather breastplate embossed with silver and the white cloak which differentiated him from any other officer in the legion. No sword or crested helmet, for this was a purely social occasion. He ran his hand through his hair and exchanged a glance with the Spaniard.
    ‘You look like a scarred old tom leopard in a dress, but you’ll do,’ was Serpentius’s opinion. ‘I’ve seen you looking less nervous before a fight. Mind you, that Tulia’s face is enough to scare a Scythian sword-swallower into an early grave. Or is there someone else who frightens you?’
    Valerius decided not to hear the final sentence. Tiberius, scrubbed, polished and wearing armour buffed to a mirror shine, was waiting just the right distance from the table to be polite. Beside him stood the two captains of the escort galleys, who if anything appeared even younger than their companion. They saluted Valerius, warily eyeing the wooden hand and the vivid red line that scarred his face from below his left eye to the corner of his mouth, but Tiberius noticed his smile.
    ‘I apologize if we have amused you, sir.’
    ‘Never apologize for amusing someone, Tiberius; there is not enough amusement in the world. And never mistake jest for insult, or you may find that winning a battle costs more than you are willing to pay. I was just thinking that you fight as if you were born with a sword in your hand.’
    The young man nodded, accepting