‘He speaks of a pirate ship,’ Varro said. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Septimus immediately reported the events of the battle the day before.
Varro nodded, remembering the corpses he had seen on deck. ‘He has made this report about an attack on Rome to you already?’ he asked.
‘Yes Commander,’ Septimus replied. ‘And to the captain and second-in-command.’
‘And each time it has been exactly the same?’
‘Yes, Commander,’ Septimus said.
Varro nodded, dismissing any lingering doubt he had that the story was a delirious tale brought on by the man’s obvious wounds. A feverish ramble would not be repeated so succinctly.
‘Very well,’ Varro said and left the cabin without another word, Vitulus and the other legionaries making way for him in the corridor before following him back on deck. Varro did not pause until he was back on board the Tigris.
‘Cast off immediately,’ he ordered the captain, ‘and set course for Brolium.’
The captain saluted and roused the crew to action.
‘Shall I signal the rest of the squad to follow?’ Vitulus asked.
‘No, order them to stand by on station here.’
Vitulus saluted and proceeded to the aft-deck. Varro watched him go before turning to gaze over the other ships of his squad, many of their crews curiously watching the Tigris get under way. He spotted the Greek captain and the tall centurion on the main deck of the Aquila; the two men in conversation. They were more than just captain and marine, Varro thought as he watched them closely, they were obvious friends and Varro was left to wonder why a Roman centurion would befriend such a man as the Greek. Whatever the reason Varro marked the friendship in his mind, knowing that when the time came the centurion’s loyalty to his friend could supersede his loyalty to Rome.
Varro re-examined the information the Roman captain had given them, information that the consul would need to hear and that Varro would deliver personally, ensuring that his name was associated with the discovery of the enemy’s plan. He smiled triumphantly. His rank and honour were within his grasp.
Varro looked upon the flagship of the consul with awe. It was a quinquereme, one of a fleet of ten anchored at the northern end of the harbour at Brolium, their massive hulls dwarfing the single trireme that Varro could see amongst them, a galley that was being used to ferry supplies and equipment between the larger ships, a stark omen of the fate that surely awaited the suddenly obsolescent smaller galleys of the Classis Romanus.
Varro commanded the captain to lay the Tigris alongside the flagship, his eyes ranging across the deck of the taller ship in the hope of confirming whether the consul was on board or not. He spotted Regulus almost immediately, the consul standing amidst a group of staff officers with the ever vigilant praetoriani flanking his position on the fore and aft-decks. He was easily distinguished, the consul’s heavier frame in marked contrast to the leaner younger tribunes who accompanied him and Varro felt his resolve weaken, knowing the dismissive glances that would greet him from his former contemporaries on the deck of the flagship.
The Tigris came to rest twenty feet away from the flagship as permission was sought to come alongside and Varro waited impatiently on the main deck before the trireme closed the gap once more, the captain called for reverse oars to bring the Tigris to a dead stop and avoid the disgrace of accidently striking his hull against that of the flagship. A gangplank was lowered from the taller deck and Varro walked briskly across before the Tigris backed off once more.
Varro squared his shoulders and walked across the main deck towards the assembled commanders. They were ranged around a large table strewn with maps, their edges haphazardly weighted down with an assortment of daggers and goblets. Regulus was holding court in the centre of the group with the tribunes around him leaning over the table, affecting knowing and intelligent expressions as they agreed with the consul’s deliberations. Regulus looked up by chance and saw Varro approach, the consul’s expression instantly turning to one of distain. Varro was surprised by the open look of contempt. Surely Scipio’s intercession had changed Regulus’s opinion of him?
‘Commander Varro,’ Regulus said, his voice laced with condescension. ‘You are not on patrol?’
‘By your leave, Consul,’ Varro said, his mind still trying to understand the consul’s attitude. ‘I bear grave and important news which I felt compelled to bring to you personally.’
A wry smile appeared at the edge of Regulus’s mouth. ‘Then speak, Squad Commander,’ the consul said, his emphasis on Varro’s rank drawing smiles from many of the tribunes.
‘It may be best if we speak in private,’ Varro insisted, hoping the consul would speak to him alone, knowing a personal delivery would heighten the impact and draw him into Regulus’s initial reaction.
‘I am sure,’ Regulus began, his impatience palpable, ‘that any news you might have, however important you feel it is, can be spoken of here in front of my officers.’
Again the consul’s words were draped in condescension and Varro felt his anger rise at being treated with such disrespect.
‘Very well, Consul,’ Varro said, his voice even and emotionless, and he began to retell Albinus’s report, his words slowly wiping the smiles and contemptuous expressions from the faces of the tribunes, the look of distain fleeing quickly from Regulus’s eyes.
‘And this pirate bireme, commanded by a Carthaginian,’ Regulus asked, his voice low as his mind realised the implications of Varro’s report, ‘you say she has been taken and is now destroyed.’
‘Yes, Consul,’ Varro replied, his previous confidence returned. ‘Under my orders, my squad had been hunting the pirate galley for the past week and yesterday we caught her. The Carthaginian officer died in the attack and the pirate crew fired their own galley but fortuitously we were able to rescue the Roman captain.’
‘And he said the Carthaginian was operating out of Tyndaris?’ Regulus asked.
Varro nodded, ‘Yes, Consul.’
Regulus’s expression twisted in anger. ‘If Hiero has betrayed Rome…’ he said. He looked directly at Varro, ‘We sail to Tyndaris at once. Where is the rest of your squad, Varro?’
‘Six hours east of here; Falcone. I assembled them there in anticipation that you would need them.’
Regulus nodded. ‘You have done well Varro,’ he said, meaning it. ‘Signal your galley to follow my squad. You will remain on board the Victoria so I can discuss this report with you further.’
Varro saluted, his expression betraying nothing beyond compliance, and turned to issue the order to his own galley.
Regulus looked down and studied the map before him, picking out the port of Tyndaris on the north-eastern corner of Sicily. He stared at the inscription, his eyes tracing the letters of the name until his concentration shifted once more to Varro. He looked up once more, staring surreptitiously at the young man he had sought to ruin. Perhaps he had underestimated him. He had believed his decision to ruin him to be sound at the time and Scipio’s subsequent intervention had only served to deepen his dislike for Varro, but now the commander’s apparent audacity and skill had resulted in the exposure of a Carthaginian plan to attack Rome. Varro had even resorted to modesty when he spoke of his squad capturing the pirate galley, taking none of the credit personally.
Regulus looked to the map once more as the galley lurched beneath him, holding the table for balance as the galley swung around. The spot denoting Tyndaris stared up at him again as he replayed Varro’s report in his head. If the Carthaginians were indeed planning an invasion, and Varro’s actions had led to its exposure, then Regulus realised it would be honourable to admit that he had been wrong about the former tribune.
‘Galleys off the starboard!’
Atticus moved to the rail and looked to the horizon, his eyes quickly assessing the dark shapes sailing in formation towards Falcone.
‘Identify!’ Atticus shouted up to Corin. Lucius and Septimus were standing ready beside him on the aft-deck, their gazes switching alternatively between the masthead and the distant galleys.
‘Roman!’ Corin shouted after a minute, and Atticus breathed out, realising for the first time that he had been expecting the worst.
Varro had ordered the squad to remain in a tactically indefensible position, hemmed in between the protective shoreline of Falcone harbour with little sea room to escape should a larger force attack. Over the previous hours Atticus had been on the brink of ordering the Aquila further out to sea but Septimus had persuaded him otherwise, partially because the chances of an enemy attack were negligible but primarily because Varro would be only too pleased to find the Aquila out of position and wilfully disobeying his orders when he returned.
‘Quinqueremes,’ Corin continued to shout. ‘Eight to ten at least and a smaller ship at the rear.’
