understood what Hadria had meant to say.
‘I must go,’ he said, his family rising with him.
‘Where to?’ his father asked.
‘I must find Atticus, although I now believe I know where he is.’ Septimus touched his mother lightly on the forearm as he brushed past her, his determined stride taking him out of the room without a backward glance at Hadria or his father. Hadria ran after him, catching him as he stood in the atrium, buckling his scabbard, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
‘Septimus,’ she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. ‘I must speak with you.’
‘You were with him last night,’ Septimus said as he spun around, his expression furious.
‘Yes,’ Hadria replied quickly. ‘It was Duilius who summoned Atticus from Ostia. He was told the rest of his crew was being released this morning so he came to see me.’
‘To see you,’ Septimus said scornfully. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘We are in love,’ Hadria shot back, suddenly angry at Septimus’s debasement of their relationship.
Septimus was shocked by Hadria’s pronouncement. He hadn’t realised their relationship was so far advanced. ‘He has betrayed me,’ he countered. ‘I told him not to pursue you.’
‘You had no right to do that, Septimus. Atticus is not beholden to you and neither am I.’
‘We’ll see,’ Septimus said and strode out into the courtyard, mounting his borrowed horse in one effortless movement. He galloped out the main gate without another word, scattering the people before him on the street, their angry cries drowning Hadria’s calls for Septimus to come back.
Varro steeled his nerve as he reached for the handle of the door leading to the senior consul’s chamber adjacent to the Curia. With grim satisfaction he noticed his hand was steady and he clenched and unclenched his fist a number of times, a simple distraction that helped calm him further. He had not talked to his father since he last saw him with Scipio the day before, the Senate reconvening soon after and his father not returning to the house that evening. The summons had then arrived at dawn, commanding Varro to attend Regulus’s private room, forestalling any chance to confer with his father, to learn the outcome of his intercession.
Varro entered the consul’s chamber with a determined stride but he instantly faltered, his step interrupted as his gaze was drawn upward towards the domed ceiling and the play of the late sunlight through the vaulted oculus, creating an uneven ellipse that tracked across the room with the passing of the day. The chamber was a perfect circle, an anomaly amongst the other ante-chambers of the Curia, all of which were square or rectangular and Varro felt overwhelmed by the impression that he had indeed stepped into the inner sanctum of power in Rome.
The tribune regained his wits and looked to the centre of the chamber where a massive marble-topped table dominated. Behind it sat Regulus, leaning forward with his palms spread flat on the featureless surface while behind him, by his left shoulder, stood Scipio, his sharp aquiline features accentuated by the light overhead. Varro strode to a point three feet short of the table and stood to attention, saluting with regulation exactness, his eyes staring at a point two inches above the seated consul’s head.
‘Titus Aurelius Varro reporting as ordered, Consul,’ he said, his voice shattering the temple-like silence of the chamber.
‘Varro,’ Regulus said, suddenly standing, his voice laced with disapproval. As the consul moved to his right, Varro quickly darted his eyes to Scipio, hoping to see some expression of confederacy, some sign of alliance after the meeting with his father but Scipio’s gaze was locked on Regulus.
Varro looked ahead as the senior consul continued. ‘All afternoon yesterday, Varro,’ he said, ‘I listened to many voices in the Senate, each one more condemnatory than the last.’
Varro maintained his gaze on the wall ahead, trying to ignore the words, focusing only on the decision of his fate. Regulus continued to circle the room, until he stood directly behind the tribune. ‘Throughout that debate however,’ he said, ‘I knew only one voice could determine your future…mine.’
Regulus paused for a minute, the heavy silence reasserting itself until Varro could hear only his own breathing.
The consul sat down, his hooded eyes looking up at the stoic tribune. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded and Varro dropped his gaze to meet Regulus’s.
‘You have failed Rome,’ Regulus said, his voice once more laced with censure, ‘and for that you must be punished. Therefore you are hereby stripped of all rank and privileges and are ordered to report to the Fourth Legion stationed in Felsina. There you will serve out your sinecure as a legionary.’
Varro’s expression glazed over as the full import of this sentence struck home through his mounting despair. Felsina was at the northern frontier of the Republic, a constant battleground where Gallic clans continually challenged the boundaries of Rome. The legion stationed there, the Fourth, was the toughest in the Republic, but it was also the legion with the lowest life expectancy. As a disgraced tribune, marked as an aberration amongst the proud legionaries, his life would be measured in weeks, whether he met the enemy in battle or not.
‘You are dismissed!’ Regulus said.
With enormous willpower Varro drew himself to full height and saluted once more. He spun on his heel and exited the room.
‘There is another option, Regulus,’ Scipio said as the tribune’s footsteps faded behind the door. He walked slowly around the table until he faced the consul. Regulus raised his eyebrows in question.
‘You could spare Varro a full censure,’ Scipio said.
‘Spare him?’ Regulus scoffed. ‘Impossible. He must be held accountable.’
‘But to what degree?’ Scipio said, beginning his carefully prepared argument. ‘I have heard reports from the battle that suggest that he does not bear full responsibility for the defeat.’
‘Of course he does,’ Regulus said dismissively. ‘He commanded the fleet.’
‘But there are reports of dereliction of duty that undermined his command.’
‘Against whom?’ Regulus asked, searching Scipio’s expression for signs of deception, remaining guarded though he found none.
‘Captain Perennis of the Aquila,’ Scipio said.
‘Perennis, Duilius’s captain at Mylae?’ Regulus scoffed. ‘Who makes such allegations?’
‘I cannot reveal my sources,’ Scipio said, beginning once again to pace the room. ‘Suffice it to say they are beyond question and it now seems clear that Varro was not entirely to blame for the defeat. In fact, he should be commended for his brave action in saving the hastati of the Ninth.’
Scipio kept his gaze from the consul, not willing to take the chance that Regulus would see that he was gambling. His ‘sources’ were the words of Varro himself, and as such were completely unreliable, but they served his purpose and in any case he had already agreed with Calvus that he would intercede on behalf of his son, an agreement he would never reveal to Regulus.
‘But what of accountability, Scipio?’ Regulus said. ‘The loss of so many galleys cannot go unpunished.’
‘Nor can the loss of a loyal tribune from a respected family be justified to satisfy the vultures of the Senate,’ Scipio said.
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘Strip him of his rank of tribune but give him a lesser command, a squad of galleys in Sicily,’ Scipio proposed, ‘and banish him from Rome until we win the war. It will give him a chance to redeem himself.’
Regulus leaned forward once more as he contemplated the senator’s suggestion. Scipio watched him in silence, waiting for the senior consul to agree to his well-crafted argument. The lure had been elaborate and the subterfuge regarding his sources ignoble but Scipio was content with his approach. He needed Varro in Sicily if his plan was to succeed but to directly ask Regulus for the favour of leniency was beneath him. Scipio preferred to plant and then nurture an idea in another man’s head, bending his will without him knowing, allowing them to believe that the idea was his own before ultimately doing Scipio’s bidding without even realising it.
‘I disagree,’ Regulus said, sitting straight in his chair once more. ‘My initial judgement was sound. Varro will be sent to Felsina.’
For a second Scipio could not believe what he was hearing and it was only when he felt his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms did he realise that the consul had disagreed with him.
‘Regulus,’ Scipio said, the bile rising in his throat as he fought to contain his anger. ‘I urge you to reconsider.’
‘No, Scipio,’ Regulus said, no longer looking at the senator. ‘I have made up my mind. The sentence stands.’
