"Yes. Earlier I thought I saw one but this time I have no doubt."

"I can't see him."

"He's there. I know it."

The moon reappeared, lighting up the sea, the ship.

"There he is now sir do you see him?"

"No."

"There. He's almost at the stern. Can you see him now?"

"No. My eyes are obviously not as good as yours."

"When he turns he'll probably see us."

Caesar clicked his fingers at an archer standing nearby.

"Can you see him?"

"Yes sir."

"Prepare to fire."

The archer notched an arrow and drew back his bow.

"Don't fire unless you're absolutely sure you can bring him down in one shot."

"Yes sir. I've already compensated for the wind. It won't be an easy shot."

"He has to be killed. If he's wounded or you miss our game's up."

"I won't miss sir."

The sentry patrolling the repaired Trireme got to the end of his pacing and stopped. He spat over the rear of the ship and rolled his aching shoulders. He had been patrolling now for four hours alone. He had given up counting his footsteps. Twelve from the bow, seventy seven for the deck, eleven to the rear steering oars. That made exactly one hundred. He yawned and glanced east, then continued his pacing for a few moments, then stopped dead, a puzzled look on his face. For a moment, in the moonlight, he'd thought he'd seen a large ship sailing directly for him. He turned and looked again and died. The Roman arrow smashed into his mouth drowning out any sound he could have made. He staggered forward and toppled over the side and fell with a heavy splash into the harbour.

"Well done," was all Caesar said.

Their ship maneuvered around the galley and through smaller ships and boats, the sail filled out by the strong wind. Now in the moonlight Julius could see Pharos island and the beach ahead. Four hundred yards ahead, three fifty, three hundred.

"Steady as she goes."

Two fifty, two hundred.

"Keep her steady."

Caesar looked behind to see that the two other ships were flanking his. They were, some distance apart.

One hundred and fifty yards. One hundred.

"Ship oars!"

The oars were raised up out of the water and retracted.

Fifty yards to the beach men rushed up from below deck with swords ready. Most were sweating. Some were barechested.

Twenty five yards.

"Prepare for beaching."

Men planted their legs firmly or held on with free hands. Everyone on board felt the keel of the ship scrape along the bottom of the harbour, throwing men momentarily off balance, but the sheer weight of the ship gave it the momentum to continue up the beach for a short distance. The heavy ram on the prow ploughed through the sand until it came to a stop.

"Go! Go! Go!" Caesar now broke the silence and shouted at his men.

Rope ladders were thrown over the sides and secured as men rushed up and over and down onto the soft, cool, sand. Those nearest the prow didn't wait for ladders and they leapt over the side and dropped the short distance to the sand.

Caesar watched as once ashore his men raced up the beach and headed for the first buildings. One man he noticed was already lagging behind, clearly limping from hitting the beach too hard and twisting his ankle.

The next ship shuddered to a stop on Caesar's left and he watched as another fifty of his men stormed the beach, quickly becoming dark shapes and black shadows on the moonlit sand.

The last ship was also beached and these sixty spread themselves out covering the three galleys and waited. Caesar descended a wooden ladder, Dolabella right behind. Once on the beach Julius nodded to the senior officer.

"Let's move."

"Yes sir. Form up. Quickly! Protect Caesar at all costs. Maintain silence. Move!"

They fell in around the dictator who set off at a brisk pace behind one hundred and twenty of his men.

Commander Lucius Burrus stopped his men at the corner of the street. He peered around the wall. The lighthouse was five hundred paces ahead. A walled road led to it, a straight road. Lucius bit his bottom lip. He could see the square building at the base of the lighthouse. The large wooden doors were closed. Two sentries with javelins stood guard. As Lucius watched four other guards marched past, then rounded the corner and disappeared down the side of the building. His eyes travelled up the twenty feet high crenelated walls. He could see the tips of more javelins there. The lighthouse itself rose up from this point, towering above the harbour.

There was no cover. Nothing on the road. His men wouldn't even make it a quarter of the way before they were seen. Caesar had archers with him, but at this distance, with this wind, Lucius knew they couldn't risk it.

On one side of the walls running along the road was the harbour, twenty feet down. The wall sloped outwards near the water. On the other side was open sea.

Lucius knew there was nothing else for it. He would have to send swimmers along the walls and then scale near the lighthouse and kill quickly. He gave instructions and six men, three on each side, removed their tunics, tied knives to the insides of their forearms, and dashed off for the water on one side of the road and the sea on the other. The rest of Lucius' men moved into the shadows and waited.

The three that ran for the harbour were in the water in no time. The boats giving them added cover. They had to duck under mooring ropes from time to time.

The three that ran for the sea had it much tougher. Near the shore it was rocky and they had to climb barefoot over sharp, jagged rocks. Once in the sea it was no better until they were able to swim. Surprisingly to Quintus Varius the sea wasn't as cold as he'd thought it would be. Nor did the two legionaries accompanying him.

In the harbour Gaius Lepidus thought the water was cold. He felt it numbing his body as he swam. His neck was already aching from having to keep stopping and looking up.

The next time he looked up the fire from the lighthouse was looming above him. He estimated they had been in the water for less than five minutes. Slowly, trying to cause the least amount of ripples and noise possible the three made their way towards the wall.

Here at the lighthouse the wall came down into the sea. The foundations were deep in the silt. Gaius scrabbled along the wall with his hands while underwater his feet pushed against it, helping him along. Finally he found a foothold and pushed himself up out of the water. The other two moved along until they were behind him. Then slowly the three began to climb the very difficult wall.

Twice Gaius nearly slipped. Both times he managed to hang on, pressing his fingers and toes into rough edges of stone and mortar. Once he did slip and he began sliding down the wall, his fingers scrabbling on the rough stone. He managed to stop himself before he collided with his two fellow climbers. He hugged the wall tightly. Then when he felt that he wouldn't slip anymore he took first one hand and then the other off the wall and brought it up to his face. In the light cast by the large fire at the top of the lighthouse he could see that his fingertips were raw with abrasions. His finger nails were broken and bleeding. Both his knees were grazed. He reached down to the one that was hurting the most and brought his fingers up to his face again. There was blood on them. His knife on his forearm had slipped also and he retied it one handed and using his teeth.

One of the others had managed to move out to the left and was now level with Gaius.

"Are you all right Gaius?" he whispered across.

Gaius nodded.

"Do you want me to take the lead?"

Gaius' fingertips were stinging and he clenched his fingers into a tight fist. They were extremely sore but regardless he shook his head and thrust himself upwards, climbing the wall quickly. Soon he found himself at the top and he pulled himself up just enough to peek over . They had come up at the side of the building around the corner from the standing guards.

Perfect!

He bade his colleagues to wait then, quick as a flash, Gaius pulled himself up over the wall and darted silently for the corner. He peeked around once. The two guards were staring down the street towards where the Romans waited. He peered around again searching the distant wall for signs of the other three swimmers. He couldn't see them.

'What should I do?' he asked himself, 'Do I attack or wait?'

Another glance around the corner told him that the guards were standing ten paces apart. He glanced up at the sky. The wind had died down.

'At least the moon is not out.'

He decided he couldn't wait any longer. He turned to beckon his men over and kicked a stone by accident. It clattered across the road and finished up by the wall. He put his hand out and shook it to stop the other two but they were already at the top of the wall. Gaius dared to look around the wall. To his horror the guard nearest him was looking in his direction. He shrank back further into the shadows. He stole another peek and saw the guard moving slowly towards him. Gaius knew he and his men would be no match for the javelin or long sword the Egyptian army carried. He cursed his luck. He darted to the wall. He had only seconds to act. He squatted down and scrabbled with his fingers, desperately searching for the stone that had probably given him away. Then he touched it and his fingers closed around it.

Back in the street Lucius Burrus waited for signs of his men who'd taken the ocean to re-appear. As he'd watched he'd seen one man from the harbour side scale the top of the wall and dash into the shadows. Now he could see one of the guards moving to that corner where the man remained hidden.

"What's happening?" a voice asked quietly.

Burrus knew the voice. He turned and saluted. Then anxious about the guard he turned back and spoke quietly over his shoulder.

"I've sent swimmers via the harbour and ocean Caesar. The men from the harbour are in position. I don't know if the guard has discovered them. I'm still waiting to see the men from the other side appear."

The sentry was almost at the corner.

"Can you bring him down with an archer?"

"I couldn't guarantee it at first but now the wind has dropped."

"Get an archera.Wait he's turning, something's distracted him."

Quintus Varius and his two men scaled the top of the wall from the sea and rushed to the side of the base of the lighthouse. He glanced down at his legs and saw little bits of black seaweed sticking to them. He peered around the corner, saw the guard nearest to him looking in the opposite direction, saw the further guard away from his station also heading in the opposite direction, drew his knife from his forearm and dashed out into the open. He jumped onto the Egyptian's back, knocking the wind out of his enemy as he drove his dagger through the man's back, through his ribs, into his heart. Varius didn't wait to see if the man was dead. He simply plunged his knife into the man's jugular and ripped it free.

The other guard had almost reached the corner of the building. He'd heard the initial stone hit the wall, then heard the stone clatter up the street after Burrus had thrown it to distract him. Then he'd whirled around as he'd heard the other guard go down. He drew his sword and as he began to run he was tripped from behind and hit the road hard. The three Romans plunged their knives into him again and again and again and as he was howling with the pain one of them lifted his head and slit his throat.

The two teams wasted no time in grabbing arms and legs and began moving the dead men into the shadows. Varius stopped and looked up at the sound of approaching feet.

"What's that?"

"Patrol," Varius answered.

He grabbed the nearest javelin, another of his men picked up a sword. Now armed with better weapons the six Romans waited in the shadows as the patrol rounded the corner. They saw the dead bodies and the captain shouted and drew his sword. The Romans threw themselves into action. They charged the four man patrol. The Egyptian captain raised his shield as a javelin was thrown at him. It glanced off and clattered away, the steel head striking sparks off the flagstones. The second javelin embedded itself into the shield and the force of it wrenched it from his arm. Bellowing with rage he stormed at the Romans, his sword slashing this way and that. The first of Burrus' men managed to avoid the deadly weapon but the second didn't move in time and the sword slashed his quadriceps open, cleaved to the bone. He fell to the ground howling in agony.

From where the Romans stood they could see the guards on upper levels looking down. Then they were running for the steps that led down. One man ran to the corner and throwing his weapons down he leaned forward and blew long and hard into a curved horn. The noise of which reached out over the island, across the harbour and into the city.

"That's the end of our surprise attack," Caesar said, "We move now."

"Yes Sir," Burrus said.

He drew his sword and at the top of his voice he yelled, "Charge!" and dashed out into the street, the rest of his men running after him.

Varius whirled around, his sword a whirling arc. The Egyptian sword longer and heavier than its Roman counterpart and useless for stabbing with. The big, Egyptian Captain was still fending them off. The rest of his men were dead or writhing in agony, dying. One Roman had fallen. Varius whirled again, his sword crashing down on the blade of the Egyptian sword striking sparks. Again and again the swords clashed. Then the sword Varius was wielding shattered. He stared in disbelief at the broken blade, the haft still in his hand. The big Egyptian spoke in a gutteral tongue. He pulled Varius close and head butted him hard in the face. Blood spurted. Varius knew instantly that his nose was broken. He staggered back bringing his free hand up to his nose. The pain was excruciating. In a rage he hurled the broken haft of his sword hitting the Egyptian in the forehead. At first it didn't appear to have any effect, but then, suddenly, he collapsed to one knee. In that instant the Romans were on him, thrusting their swords again and again into his flesh.

The big Captain still wasn't finished. He was fighting on with animal instinct. Varius, almost unable to see through watering eyes, picked up a javelin and charged the man, running him through.. The Egyptian threw his head back and roared in anguish as a Roman sword decapitated him. Varius collapsed to his knees.

The street was becoming light as the Romans parted to allow Caesar to the front. One man he noticed had what appeared to be a broken nose. Even so the man stood to attention.

"Well done men. Despite being out-equipped you fought well."

"Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!" they shouted.

Lepidus made a sweeping arc with his arm towards the large double doors at the front of the lighthouse complex.

"The lighthouse belonged to Achillas last night, this morning it belongs to Caesar!"

A great cheer went up.

"Thank you Lepidus."

Julius saw men cowering in the dirt, standing alongside them were Egyptian guards. Caesar strode over to them. The sweating, grimy, men in loincloths glanced up, saw the great dictator and cowered further into the dust.

"Look at me."

The cringing men looked up, clearly terrified.

"They operate the lift that brings the wood up to the fire sir."

"Slaves?"

One of them raised his head. Caesar pitied them. He clicked his tongue and jerked his head.

"Go while you can."

Incredibly, they got to their feet, bowed to him and ran for their lives. Now Julius focused on the guards.

"There were three sir. One of them leapt to his death."

"You are under Achillas' command?"

"No Caesar. We are palace guards. As are the men you have killed. This is our regular post."

"Then why did your men fight?"