John Stack - Captain of Rome

‘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.

An hour later they lay in the solitude of her bedroom, the sounds of city barely audible through the opened shutters, the noise muted by the heat of the early afternoon. Atticus lay on his back, his eyes tracing the light reflected across the ceiling, his mind casting back to a dawn weeks before at the edge of Thermae and the glare of the sun on the waves. Hadria lay beside him, her finger tracing an imaginary line an inch above the scar on his face, recalling Atticus’s words of moments before when he told her of how he was attacked. Hadria had listened, silently glad that she had taken the lead an hour before when she had led him to her room, the fear resurfaced and so vividly remembered giving her reason to value every moment and she had tempered their mutual anticipation and yearning with a tenderness that Atticus had never known.

Now Atticus lay replete, his mind drifting aimlessly until he suddenly glanced to the door, his brow wrinkling as if in annoyance and he stared at it for a moment longer before turning away.

‘What’s the matter?’ Hadria asked, noticing his expression.

‘I thought I heard someone approaching,’ he said, looking once more at Hadria. ‘I was expecting a knock, a message from your father’s house that Septimus had returned.’

Hadria nodded and her expression turned serious. ‘I told him about us the last time he was in Rome,’ she said. ‘He was very angry.’

‘I know,’ Atticus replied and he told Hadria of his confrontation with Septimus on the Aquila.

‘And you haven’t spoken of it since?’ Hadria asked, her tone one of concern.

‘There is nothing more to say,’ Atticus said irritably. ‘Septimus will not change his mind.’

Hadria’s forehead creased as she tried to divine her brother’s inner thoughts. She could not be sure but she still felt her original conviction was sound, that Septimus did not want Hadria to lose another love in battle as she had her first husband. She spoke her thoughts aloud to Atticus, watching as his brow furrowed.

‘That’s why he told me to stay on deck before Tyndaris,’ he said almost to himself, ‘and why he was angry to see me when I went onto the Carthaginian galley to warn him.’

‘What do you mean?’ Hadria asked.

Atticus explained.

‘So he’s trying to protect you…’ Hadria whispered, her words hanging in the air as Atticus remained silent, thinking of his friend. After their confrontation on the Aquila he had been sure of Septimus’s position. Now, with Hadria’s insight, he was no longer certain.

The Senate stood as one as Regulus entered the Curia, his preannounced request for a full audience ensuring that every senator of Rome was in attendance, their numbers swelled by tribunes and senior magistrates who had also been summoned at the senior consul’s request. Regulus walked slowly to the podium, indicating with his hand for the assembly to be seated. He stood silent for a moment; savouring the approbation of the Senate but also the renewed sense of a shared purpose that permeated the Curia, the narrowly averted threat to Rome infusing the Senate with a reunified aspiration that stood above the petty power-plays and squabbling of the daily debate. Regulus had experienced this level of concord before, immediately after the victory of Mylae, when all of Rome rose to its feet in triumph. He was a lowly senator then, anonymous amongst three hundred. Now he was senior consul and the united power of Rome was his to command.