Captain of Rome (29 page)

Regulus nodded, his gaze shifting to the land beyond the shore, behind the line of jetties from where Varro had just travelled, ‘And?’ he asked, indicating the unseen terrain.

‘A supply-dump large enough to stock a significant fleet and quarters for at least twenty thousand troops.’

Regulus shook his head slowly, amazed at how close the Carthaginians had been to fulfilling their plans, how ready they were, how their surprise land-attack west now made sense, their ultimate destination revealed. And what of Syracuse? Hiero was certainly complicit in some way, allowing the
Punici
to use his port. An alliance of convenience or maybe he was fully aware of their plans. Either way Regulus vowed the king of Syracuse would answer to the charge.

‘What news of the
Alissar
?’ Varro asked, interrupting the consul’s thoughts. The name of the Punic quinquereme and the identity of her commander had been ascertained soon after the Carthaginians’ capitulation at the point of a sword and Regulus had immediately ordered two quinqueremes in pursuit. Varro had seen that they had returned as he made his way to the
Victoria
moments before.

‘She has escaped,’ Regulus said regretfully. ‘Her lead was too great.’

‘And so Hamilcar Barca, the Carthaginian supreme commander in Sicily, has escaped our grasp,’ Varro added, twisting the knife of that loss in order to bait the consul.

Regulus stared at Varro, annoyance in his eyes that Varro should see the need to mention the obvious. ‘The
Alissar
could not be stopped,’ he said. ‘She was already two miles ahead when the first of our quinqueremes broke through the line.’

‘One galley should have stopped her,’ Varro added, ‘but they failed.’

‘The
Aquila
?’ Regulus asked sceptically. ‘Everything they could have done, they did.’

‘Even still,’ Varro persisted, ‘the chance to capture Barca was lost and the Captain of the
Aquila
should pay the price of that loss.’

Regulus waved his hand dismissively, ‘You are too harsh, Varro. The match was too uneven, a trireme against a quinquereme and the crew of the
Aquila
were badly mauled. I am satisfied they did all they could to stop the
Alissar.
’

Varro nodded, deciding not to pursue the point, knowing that his argument was not strong, content to know that he had already achieved a great deal in only the past two days.

As if reading his thoughts Regulus turned to Varro. ‘You have done well, Titus,’ he said. ‘If you had not revealed this plan, Rome herself could have been threatened.’

Varro straightened his back at the compliment, knowing it to be well deserved but expressing nothing beyond humility on his face. ‘It was my duty to Rome,’ he said modestly.

‘Yes, you are loyal,’ Regulus agreed. ‘But you also demonstrated abilities far beyond my previous expectations, capturing the pirate galley and releasing the Roman captain. It is only because of those actions that Barca’s plans lie in ruins.’

Varro nodded in gratitude, knowing now his fortune had changed irrevocably for the better.

Regulus nodded back, silently making the decision he knew to be just. ‘Inform the captain, Tribune Varro,’ he said. ‘We sail for Rome immediately.’

H
amilcar paced impatiently across the ante-chamber, his eyes darting regularly to the inlaid gold on the ten-foot high doors to the king’s chamber. He had been waiting for over an hour, his only company the two royal guards standing silently at either side of the door. He instinctively reached for his sword, an impulse to knead the hilt with his hand, to ease the tension in his body but he remembered that his weapon had been confiscated at the first guardhouse, an insult he had been forced to swallow before being allowed to advance to the inner castle.

The
Alissar
had arrived in Syracuse only an hour before, her crew exhausted after a four day journey down the east coast of Sicily. Hamilcar had spent the entire time trying to salvage his plan in his own mind, trying to formulate alternatives that would ensure Hiero’s support and create the alliance he so desperately needed with the Syracusan. Hamilcar had also devised how best to deliver the news of the Romans discovery of Tyndaris, confident that the
Alissar
would arrive in Syracuse long before any local or Roman vessel. Now however he was not so sure. The change in the manner he was being treated did not bode well and Hamilcar’s carefully rehearsed report began to unravel in his mind.

The double-doors opened suddenly, Hamilcar spinning around to see two more guards ready to escort him into the king’s chamber. He followed them in, this time his eyes ignoring the ornate beauty of the room, his gaze fixed firmly on the dais and the figure of Hiero. As before, immediately to the king’s left, his advisor sat, the same wizened older man whom Hamilcar had all but ignored before but whose presence now irritated him, knowing the advisor had had the king’s ear for the past hour while he was kept waiting.

Hamilcar reached the foot of the raised platform and bowed as before, maintaining the same outward show of confidence he had always possessed in Hiero’s company. He waited to be spoken to. Hiero made him wait, his eyes fixed firmly on the Carthaginian’s, a trace of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

‘What news, Barca?’ he asked finally.

Hamilcar was immediately on guard, the tone of the king’s voice suggesting the question was not clear-cut, that Hiero somehow knew more than Hamilcar had hoped. But how much?

‘A setback, sire,’ Hamilcar said, reaching for a half-truth. ‘The Romans are aware that my forces have been using Tyndaris as a base of operations.’

‘How did they find out?’ Hiero asked and again Hamilcar sensed the king already had some knowledge of the answer.

‘A skirmish,’ Hamilcar said, deciding that Hiero couldn’t possibly know the whole truth, not from a first-hand source, ‘just west of Tyndaris. A small force of Roman ships approached and we were force to engage.’

Hiero nodded. ‘And you sailed to Syracuse to inform me personally?’ he asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice and Hamilcar’s stomach filled with dread. Hiero knew. He had not asked the obvious question, who had prevailed? Hamilcar realised that further subterfuge was useless.

‘There’s still time, sire,’ he said, pressing the force of his belief upon the king. ‘My forces are almost at your border. If your army rises now to meet them…’

‘Enough!’ Hiero shouted, his face mottled with anger. ‘You were defeated at Tyndaris. The Romans now hold the port and your plan is in ruins.’

‘How…’?’ Hamilcar asked, unable to comprehend how Hiero could know so soon.

The king smiled, a vicious contortion of his anger. ‘Your predecessor, Gisco, was good for one thing,’ he said derisively. ‘He introduced me to the Persians’ ingenious method of sending reports, carrier pigeon. I knew of your defeat two days ago.’

Hamilcar struggled to retain his composure, his mind racing to find an answer, a way to persuade Hiero to commit.

‘There is still a chance, sire,’ he said. ‘Allied together we can defeat the Roman invader. Tyndaris is only a setback, it is not defeat. It will be days yet before Rome is fully informed, maybe weeks before they react. We have the advantage if we join forces now.’

‘There is no time, Barca,’ Hiero said, his anger fuelled by the position the Carthaginian had placed him in. ‘My complicity at Tyndaris has been exposed and my commander there has already forewarned me that an envoy from the consul has been dispatched to Syracuse.’

‘From the consul? So quickly?’

‘He was the commander at Tyndaris,’ Hiero explained, his patience at an end, the thought of the envoy’s arrival and how he could avoid the wrath of Rome consuming him. ‘Now get out,’ he said. ‘From here on my open treaty with Rome will be my only alliance.’

Hamilcar made to protest but he held his tongue, knowing his cause to be lost, his honour preventing him from humbling
himself further before the petty ruler. He bowed brusquely and backed out of the chamber, aware that he was now firmly in enemy territory and Hiero might decide that delivering the head of the Carthaginian commander would placate the envoy of Rome and the consul himself. He turned as he reached the doors, walking determinedly down through the myriad of stairwells and corridors that led to the main gate, snatching his sword back from one of the guards as he left the castle, silently vowing that Hiero would rue the day he had cast his lot in with Rome.

Longus, the junior consul, waited patiently as the servant refilled the two wine goblets. The Senate was still in session but Longus had slipped out and returned to his townhouse to update the man seated opposite him, wishing to seek his counsel before his meeting with Regulus. ‘I have spoken with Seneca as you suggested,’ Longus said after the servant had gone.

‘And?’ Duilius asked, raising the goblet to his mouth.

‘He will support Regulus’s strategy.’

Duilius nodded, savouring the taste of the wine, and Longus’s news. ‘Seneca holds sway over five other fellow junior senators,’ he said. ‘With their support and the others you have already confirmed, Regulus has a significant majority.’

Longus nodded but his expression remained sceptical. ‘I was surprised at Seneca’s endorsement,’ he said, ‘even with Regulus’s popularity after his victory at Tyndaris. What made you believe he was no longer Scipio’s pawn?’

Because now he is my pawn
, Duilius thought, his neutral expression hiding his satisfaction. ‘I simply believed that Seneca was ready to vote with his conscience,’ he said aloud.

As censor, Duilius was responsible for the
regimen morum
, the keeping of the public morals, and he had quickly turned
this responsibility to his advantage. Customarily the immoral excesses of the junior senators, the majority of whom were young men from wealthy families, were ignored by the Senate and the censors; the older statesmen seeing such behaviour as a right of passage they too had enjoyed in their youth. Duilius had reversed that traditional leniency however and he had quickly gathered a large body of evidence against many of the junior senators, a move which instantly gave him a unique power over offenders like Seneca; the young man being only one amongst many.

‘I will inform Regulus that he now has a majority amongst the junior senators when I see him this afternoon.’ Longus remarked. ‘I expect he will publicly announce his strategy after that.’

Duilius nodded. ‘Remember Longus,’ he said. ‘Regulus must not know of my involvement.’

‘I understand,’ Longus replied, wondering why Duilius did not openly back the senior consul given the support he was providing; the censor’s help so far allowing Longus to secure dozens of votes for Regulus. Nonetheless he would keep his mentor’s involvement a secret as instructed.

Duilius sat back and thought through his plan again, examining it in detail. Within days of Regulus becoming senior consul, he had arranged for two of his spies to become servants in Regulus’s household. Their reports, along with those of his spies in the Senate chambers, had given Duilius a first-hand account of the fracture between Regulus and Scipio. At first Duilius had been suspicious, conscious of the misinformation that had been given before, but Regulus’s actions had confirmed the spilt and Duilius had slowly reconsidered his initial opinion of the senior consul.

Two days earlier, when Regulus had returned to Rome, Duilius had instructed Longus to give his full and open support
to the senior consul, to meet with him as often as possible and gain his confidence. Longus had obediently complied, reporting back regularly on Regulus’s emerging plans. It was Regulus’s strategy, and Longus’s appraisal of the now seemingly independent senior consul, that had convinced Duilius that it was time to support Regulus, using the leverage he had gained over the junior senators. Duilius was not yet ready to trust Regulus completely, and so he would keep his involvement secret, but for now one thing seemed certain. Regulus had placed the needs of Rome above petty rivalries and factional allegiance and for that reason alone, Duilius felt compelled to support the leader of the Republic.

Regulus stood as the arrival of the junior consul was announced, coming around from behind the marble-topped table in the centre of his chamber. He nodded affably to Longus, his expression genuine, their meetings over the previous two days, and Longus’s complete support, providing him with a reappraised view of the younger man, different from the opinion Scipio had imbued in him when he was first elected.

Longus returned the greeting, taking Regulus’s proffered hand before taking a seat. Regulus returned to his own side of the table and sat down, glancing briefly to the oculus in the dome far above and the blue sky beyond.

‘Well, Longus,’ Regulus began, looking once more to the junior consul, ‘what say the junior senators?’

‘They are in favour, Consul,’ Longus replied, his expression serious. ‘With your victory at Tyndaris and the exposure of the Carthaginians’ plans, the Senate is poised to follow any command you give them.’

Regulus nodded. His own discreet enquiries amongst the senior members of the Senate had surfaced the same support, a backing he wished to be sure of before announcing his plan.
He looked to Longus once more. The junior consul had delivered dozens of votes from amongst the junior senators, men Regulus believed were thoroughly in the control of Scipio, and although he could not conceive how Longus had achieved such a task, he was grateful for the support.

‘Then we are ready, Longus,’ he said after a pause, ‘I will declare…’ A knock interrupted Regulus and he looked to the door as his private secretary entered, his hands clasped together in contrition, his face downcast.

‘I said there was to be no interruptions,’ Regulus said angrily.

‘My apologies, Senior Consul,’ the secretary said. ‘But Senator Scipio is outside and he insists you grant him an audience.’

‘Tell him what I told him yesterday, and the day before,’ Regulus shouted, looking beyond the secretary in order that Scipio should hear his words first hand. ‘I will summon him if, and only if, I see fit.’

‘Yes, Senior Consul,’ the secretary replied but as he turned to leave Scipio slipped in, almost knocking the secretary to the ground.

‘You will see me now,’ Scipio shouted angrily but immediately stopped when he saw who was with Regulus.

‘Longus,’ he snarled, staring balefully at the younger man.

‘Consul Longus,’ he replied, standing straight, returning the hateful gaze.

Scipio snorted derisively. ‘I need to speak to you alone,’ he said to Regulus, the resolve in his voice unmistakable, his anger and impatience completely evident.

Regulus remained seated, a smile slowly emerging on his face. The sight made Scipio almost lose his temper.

‘You believe this to be funny?’ he snarled, standing beside Longus as he leaned over the table. ‘You believe you can
treat me like a common senator, that you can deny me an audience?’

‘I do not believe anything,’ Regulus said, a confidence in his voice that Scipio had never witnessed. ‘I know that I am senior consul and as such I command the power of Rome.’

‘You know nothing,’ Scipio spat back. ‘You think your victory at Tyndaris has made you secure, has made your position in this Senate unassailable but I wonder how many senators would support you if they knew how you gained your consulship; knew the part I played and the pawn that you were.’

Now Regulus stood, the smile he had worn cast off, his expression hard and cold.

‘You may tell your story to any that will listen,’ he said in whispered anger. ‘But I know, as will they realise, that what you did, you did for yourself and what I do now, I do for Rome. The Senate will see the truth of that.’

Scipio held Regulus’s gaze for a second longer, the hatred passing between them palatable, an almost physical force that marked the permanent division between them. He turned on his heel without another word, casting one last glance at Longus before storming from the room, a deafening silence left in his wake.

Atticus stood back from the door as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side. He reached up and touched the scar on his face, fingering it lightly as he traced the length of it along his jaw-line. He had seen the wound for only the first time three days before after the
Aquila
had docked in Ostia, a foreign reflection staring back at him from a barber’s polished copper mirror. Now he thought of it again, unconsciously continuing to touch it, thinking all the while of the person on the other side of the door who would also be seeing it for the first time.

The door opened inward and Hadria stepped back to push it past her, pivoting lightly on one foot as she did. Her expression changed quickly, so swiftly that Atticus, who was gazing directly at her, did not catch all the emotions displayed, surprise turning to elation and love, turning to concern at the sight of his wound. She rushed forward into his arms, pressing tightly against his chest, touching the heavy layer of bandages across his torso, then releasing the pressure of her embrace, fearful that she was hurting him. He pulled her close again, enfolding her slender body in his arms, whispering reassurances in her ear. She returned the embrace and her body began to shudder slightly, her tears warm and damp against his shoulder, the fear for him that she had thought to suppress rising again at the sight of his terrible wounds.