Scipio smiled inwardly, happy that the well chosen rumours he had circulated regarding his secret alliance with Regulus were already filtering through to the right ears.
‘I cannot comment on wild rumour, Calvus,’ Scipio said, allowing a half smile to creep across his face, ‘but it is true that Regulus and I have a long-standing friendship. It may be possible to speak to him on your son’s behalf.’
Calvus signed inwardly. Scipio was one of the most cunning men he had ever encountered in the Senate and like many others, he had secretly celebrated Scipio’s humiliation at Lipara, glad to see his power curtailed. Now, however, it would seem the Hydra-headed former consul was once more entwined in the inner circle of power and Calvus knew the price to save his son would dwarf even the fortune he had paid to ensure his son’s commission in the first place.
A knock on the door interrupted both men and they turned to see the young commander enter.
‘Ah, Titus Aurelius Varro,’ Scipio said, his false friendliness fooling the son if not the father, ‘we were just discussing you.’
Varro coloured at implication and he closed the door behind him, the heavy oak muting the sounds of conversation outside.
‘Senator Scipio,’ Varro said stepping forward, keeping his tone easy, a smile on his face. ‘My father has spoken of you many times. I am pleased to finally meet you in person.’
Scipio took the proffered hand, his own smile genial, a carefully constructed mask.
‘And I you, young Varro,’ he replied, ‘although I’m sure you would wish the circumstances were different.’
Again Varro coloured but with effort he retained his smile.
‘As a man who has suffered a similar fate at the hands of the Carthaginians,’ Varro said gravely, ‘I know I can count on your understanding in this matter.’
The smile evaporated from Scipio’s face in an instant, to be replaced by a withering stare of contempt.
‘Do not speak as if we are equals, boy,’ he growled. ‘My capture at Lipara was the result of a treacherous plot by the enemy. Your defeat was due to sheer incompetence.’
Varro was shocked by the sudden anger from Scipio and for a moment he was speechless. His father bristled inwardly, cursing his son and his inept approach. Scipio already held all the cards and could command any price. If he became hostile however, that price would increase exponentially.
‘My son is clumsy, Senator,’ Calvus said, stepping forward. ‘What he meant to say was; as Romans we all share the sting of defeat.’
Scipio snorted, his gaze never leaving Varro, his anger commanding him to throw the fool to the wolves. Slowly, however, his rational mind forced him to focus.
‘Of course,’ he said, the smile returning to his face although it did not reach his cold eyes.
Varro stepped forward again, his own anger rising at his father’s dismissal, the need to defend himself overwhelming.
‘I am a legionary, Senator Scipio,’ he said, ‘not a sailor. You are right to say that my defeat was due to incompetence, but it was not my incompetence, it was the fault of my captain, the man who should have perceived the threat and advised me, Atticus Milonius Perennis.’
Calvus was shocked by his son’s announcement and again he burned with shame. It was unseemly for a commander to blame his subordinates and he turned to Scipio once more, expecting the senator to berate his son for such a blatant attempt to shift the blame. He was surprised however when Scipio’s expression seemed to show understanding.
‘Perennis,’ Scipio said slowly, allowing the name to hang in the air for a moment. ‘He was captain of your flagship?’
‘At Consul Duilius’s insistence,’ Varro interjected although the truth was that Varro had chosen Atticus without intervention.
Scipio nodded once more. Perennis was still under the tacit protection of Duilius and as a hero of Mylae, he was near untouchable in Rome. Away from the city he was out of Scipio’s immediate reach but also Duilius’s protection and so for months Scipio had being trying to devise a way to eradicate the man who had sullied his honour, while remaining above suspicion. Varro could be just the puppet he was seeking. He decided to test the depths of the young man’s belligerence.
‘But Perennis captained the flagship to victory at Mylae,’ Scipio said, his advocacy of Perennis like bile in his throat. ‘Surely he is more than capable.’
‘Perhaps he is, Senator,’ Varro replied, committing himself to speak aloud the words that would strengthen his case. ‘But we must remember he is a Greek and has no vested interest in the fate of the Roman fleet.’
‘You question his loyalty?’ Scipio asked, his excitement rising as he sensed the hatred of the younger man.
‘I question where his loyalty lies,’ Varro replied, his half-truths taking on a life of their own.
‘Very well,’ Scipio said, satisfied. ‘Leave us now, young Varro. I must speak with your father alone.’
Varro stood to attention and saluted, believing firmly that he had found an ally in the senator. He left the room without another word.
Scipio watched him go, his mind racing as his previous plans were discarded and new ones began to formulate. He had been content to protect Varro to place his father in debt to him but the young man had put Scipio within reach of an even greater prize and it took all of his self control to keep the look of triumph from his face. He turned once more to the elder Varro, his outer consciousness listening once more to the man’s renewed supplication, his expression fixed to show only indulgence while inwardly a malicious pleasure grew. He had already enacted a measure of revenge against Duilius. Now, however, with the unwitting assistance of Varro, he was ready to strike at the other man who had stolen so much from him.
Atticus sat up on his cot as he heard the key turn in the lock’s brass housing. He glanced over his shoulder to the window of his cell. It was dark outside with a light breeze herding low clouds across the sky, their passing obscuring and revealing the pale light of the rising crescent moon. As he turned back to the door he caught Septimus’s eye. The centurion was also rising from his cot, his puzzled expression answering Atticus’s unasked question. They had been in the cell now for nearly thirty-six hours and while food had been delivered at regular intervals by slaves, they had had no other contact with the world outside.
The door opened and a black cloaked praetorian guard entered. He was flanked in the hallway by three others, shadowy figures in the darkness of the hallway. The man’s height was increased by his helmet and he towered over the seated men, his eyes moving over both before settling on Atticus.
‘Captain Perennis of the Aquila?’ he asked
Atticus stood up and nodded.
‘You’re to come with me,’ the guard said, his voice revealing nothing.
‘Where to?’ Atticus asked.
‘To see my master,’ the guard replied.
‘And he is?’
The guard looked to Septimus again, then to the window, his gaze wary.
‘Not here,’ he replied, stepping aside slightly to indicate that Atticus should pass out into the hallway. Atticus hesitated for a mere second. There was nothing to be gained from resisting. Not yet at least. He turned to Septimus and nodded, the centurion returning his gesture before he walked past the praetorian guard.
Atticus waited while the door was relocked and then he followed his escort down the long torch-lit corridor out into the courtyard. A stable lad held five horses ready and they mounted quickly, two men taking station in front of and behind Atticus as they trotted out of the castrum. It was near midnight but the commercial dockside of Ostia was still busy with activity, some furtive, as starving waifs searched for scraps of fallen and forgotten food and slaves cleared away the remnants of the day’s trading, clearing the docks for the flood of produce that would arrive when dawn’s light would permit the incoming ships to dock safely.
Their way along the docks was cleared without command before them, the hoof beats unnaturally loud in the silence of Ostia, their passing unremarkable to the slaves and starving whose wretched lives they interrupted. Atticus remained silent, his position in the centre of the group preventing further questions of his escort, but he sensed the men close in around him, bunching their advance and hemming him in. He smiled inwardly, wondering where they thought he was going to run to. He didn’t recognise any of them but one thing was clear, whoever their
