‘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.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hamilcar 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,
