Atticus called up for permission to board and then clambered up the ladder to the main deck. A crewman was waiting for him and led him below to the main cabin, knocking on the door lightly before showing Atticus in. The room was cramped, with the normal spartan furnishing of a warship augmented by two couches in the centre of the cabin and an enormous strongbox against the stern wall. The two consuls were reclined on the couches and Atticus stepped forward, standing at attention and reciting his name.
Ahh, Prefect Perennis, Paullus said, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand, a wry smile on his face. He turned to the junior consul seated beside him. This is the man I was telling you about, Servius. The Greek captain Regulus promoted.
Nobilior nodded slowly, looking at Atticus with a studious gaze.
Your squadron fought well, Prefect, Paullus said.
Thank you, Consul.
In fact, Paullus continued, his tone suddenly wary, I would go so far as to say that although our victory was assured, your squadrons arrival hastened our triumph.
Atticus noted the inflection in the consuls words, the implicit demand for agreement, and he was immediately on his guard.
Yes, Consul, he replied, and Paullus nodded, satisfied the prefect knew his place. The senior consul had already drafted his report of the battle for the Senate, taking special care to ensure full credit for the victory would fall on his shoulders, while the report also spoke favourably of the junior consul. Beyond that, Paullus had no intention of sharing his triumph with any of his subordinates, and certainly not with a lowly Greek.
Very good, Perennis, he said, his expression genial once more. Report to the aft-deck and wait for me there with the other prefects.
Atticus saluted, turned on his heel and left the room. Paullus watched him leave and then slowly raised himself from his couch, drinking the last of his wine as he crossed the cabin. He placed his goblet on a table, fingering the rim of it lightly as he glanced once more at the cabin door. Perennis had acquiesced without hesitation and Paullus was left with a sliver of doubt. The Greek was either very naive or very shrewd.
Atticus looked astern as he came back on deck. The aft-deck was covered by a canvas awning, a shade against the sunlight for the officers surrounding the chart table that had been set up in front of the tiller. The officers were legionaries and Atticus surmised they were all former tribunes, drafted from the army to serve as prefects in the expanding Roman fleet. As Atticus approached the table, one of them looked up.
What is it, sailor? he asked brusquely.
Atticus smiled. Prefect, he replied, and he stood amongst them, looking down at the charts, conscious that every eye was on him.
Who in Hades are you? one of the officers asked, and Atticus looked up, the smile still on his face.
Atticus Milonius Perennis, Atticus replied, and he noticed the flash of recognition on the Romans face.
The Greek, he said, and Atticuss smile evaporated, the Romans derisive tone enraging him. He made to respond but the officer looked past Atticus and suddenly shot to attention, the others following suit.
As you were, men, Paullus said, and the officers stepped aside to make room for the two consuls at the table.
We have won a great victory, Paullus began. Many of the officers tapped the table top with clenched fists in approbation, the senior consul smiling magnanimously. He held up his hand for silence.
But we cannot rest, he continued, looking to each man in turn. We must strike while the enemy is weak. Without troops we cannot progress the campaign here in Africa; but Sicily remains the prize, and with this fleet I intend to take it.
Paullus drew everyones attention to the chart on the table, his finger drawing a line along the map. First we will return to Sicily. Then we will sail up the southwest coast of the island and use the might of this fleet to convince the cities of Heraclea Minoa and Selinus to defect to our cause. Then we will blockade Lilybaeum and force the surrender of the Carthaginian garrison there.
The officers voiced their approval, the boldness of the plan inspiring their confidence. Paullus took a moment to listen to their praise for his strategy before he brought them to silence once more.
Now return to your ships, he said as the officers stood to attention. We sail on the morrow.
The men saluted and were turning to leave when a voice stopped them short.
We cannot leave so soon, Atticus said. All eyes turned to him, an astonished silence descending over the group at the Greeks insubordination.
Paullus leaned in over the table and looked directly at Atticus. You disapprove of my plan, Perennis? he said, a hard edge to his voice.
Your strategy is sound, Consul, Atticus replied, his tone confident. But we cannot sail so soon. We must wait two weeks.
Two weeks, Paullus scoffed. The Republic was not built on timidity, Perennis, as I am sure your people know. We must strike now while we have the initiative.
Atticus swallowed the insult, knowing it was important to persuade Paullus. Orion has risen, Consul, he began. We must wait for Sirius.
What are you talking about? Paullus asked irritably.
The weather, Consul. Between the rising of Orion and Sirius there is too great a risk of severe weather in those waters.
This time Paullus laughed, a mocking tone that brought a smile of derision to the lips of many of the Roman officers. The weather cannot stop the will of Rome, he said curtly. My order stands. We sail with the tide tomorrow.
The officers saluted once more and walked away. Only Atticus did not move.
Youre dismissed, Perennis, Paullus said angrily, the Greeks stubbornness irritating him.
Consul, the southwest coast is hostile and there are no safe harbours north of Agrigentum, Atticus continued, knowing his chance was slipping away. Ask any of the experienced sailors in the fleet. If we hit bad weather-
Enough, Paullus snapped, his patience at an end. He stepped forward and leaned in until his face was inches from Atticuss.
You fought well at Cape Hermaeum, Perennis, he said coldly, and for that I will forgive this insubordination. But only this one time. Now get off my ship.
Atticus stood back and saluted, his expression unreadable. Underneath, frustration consumed him.
Hamilcar looked up at the soaring height of the Byrsa citadel as he made his way towards the columned entrance to the Council chamber. He paused and traced the ancient walls from their base to the towering battlements, oblivious to the people stepping around him, many of them muttering curses of annoyance, the teeming streets having little tolerance for the unhurried.
Hamilcar looked up at the soaring height of the Byrsa citadel as he made his way towards the columned entrance to the Council chamber. He paused and traced the ancient walls from their base to the towering battlements, oblivious to the people stepping around him, many of them muttering curses of annoyance, the teeming streets having little tolerance for the unhurried.
The citadel was a sight that had never before failed to lift Hamilcars spirits, but on this day it did not lighten his mood and, after a moment, he continued on, slipping into a current in the crowd that brought him quickly to his destination. He stepped into the cool interior, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom, and made his way across the marble floor, his footfalls mingling with the echoing sounds from the outer hall. He stopped at the antechamber door and knocked, entering as he heard a muffled summons from within. He closed the door behind him and looked to the two men in the room in turn. He was conscious of keeping a neutral expression, though, hiding his respect for the first man and his loathing for the second.
Hasdrubal smiled and stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and Hamilcar took it, matching the strength of the older mans grip, the brief contact invigorating him.
It is good to see you, Father, he said.
And you, Hamilcar, Hasdrubal replied, although his face showed his concern at how exhausted his son looked.
Hamilcar released his fathers hand and turned to the other man, Hanno. He was a massive figure, broad in the chest and stomach, and Hamilcar nodded to him perfunctorily, his gesture ignored. He turned once more to his father.
I came as soon as I got your message.
Hasdrubal nodded. The meeting with the One Hundred and Four went well?
As well as I could have expected, Hamilcar replied. On balance, the victory at Tunis outweighs the loss at Cape Hermaeum. The city is secure for now and I retain my command.
Congratulations, Hamilcar, Hanno said sardonically, stepping forward, his movements slow and deliberate. I see your ability to delude those old men continues to save you.
My record alone speaks for me, Hanno, Hamilcar replied scathingly. And the One Hundred and Four know my worth.
Hanno smiled, as if conceding the point, although Hamilcar sensed the councillor could see through his confident tone.
The One Hundred and Four was a council of judges that oversaw all military matters in the empire, their number drawn from the retired commanders who had served Carthage with distinction. Hamilcars mandate to command was based on their approval, with success being the main criterion; although Hamilcar had been victorious at Tunis, he had been forced to defend his actions at Cape Hermaeum, an argument that had fully tested the oratorical skills his father had taught him.
The Supreme Council meets at noon, Hasdrubal said, conscious of the time and impatient of the conflict between Hanno and his son. We need to reach a consensus on how best to proceed.
Hanno grumbled in agreement and walked once more to the far side of the room. Over the previous years, two factions had emerged on the Supreme Council. One, led by Hanno, was opposed to the war in Sicily and believed that the empire should expand in Africa, and the other, led by Hasdrubal, supported the Sicilian campaign. Prior to the current alliance, the two factions had frequently hamstrung each other, with neither cause prevailing. Coupled with this, Hanno had shared command with Hamilcar in their defeat at Cape Ecnomus. It was only their agreed mutual support after the battle that had saved both their careers. Hanno despised his coalition with the Barcid clan, but for now it was in his best interest to maintain the union, his fate inexorably tied to each man. So before he turned back to face the father and son, he buried his animosity beneath a thin veneer of unity.