You have seen your men, he said.
I have, Barca, Regulus replied, as your soldier reported. He sat down again and took a sip of his wine. So, you have spared my tribunes from enslavement for ransom.
Yes.
But why let me see them?
So you can confirm that they are safe and well, Hamilcar said. I want you to travel to Rome to negotiate their ransom.
Me? Regulus replied, astonished by the suggestion. You would release me?
On parole, Hamilcar said.
Again Regulus was stunned. Parole was an agreement based on word of honour, one that Regulus would uphold because he held himself to be honourable. But the Carthaginian could not know that for sure, not from their brief acquaintance. It would be madness to release me, Barca, he said, revealing his thoughts out loud. You cannot have faith in my honour, and the lives of four tribunes are too insignificant to guarantee my return. His eyes narrowed warily. Theres something else, something youre not telling me.
Hamilcar nodded. There is something else, he said. The ransom of the tribunes is merely a symbol of good faith.
Good faith?
For what I also want from you, Hamilcar replied, and he walked over to stand before Regulus, slowly forming and reforming the wording of his proposal in his mind, conscious of its importance. I want you to act as an ambassador, he said, his tone wholly confident. And bring, to Rome, Carthages terms for peace.
Atticus balled his fists in anger. He was about to step forward but a desperate glance from Hadria made him stop. She was crying, the tears running freely down her face, and Atticus felt his rage build further. She looked away from him and he felt his restraint waver, every instinct telling him to cross the room to end the vicious flow of invective that was staining his honour and breaking Hadrias heart.
The room was full of voices and conflicting sounds: Hadrias trembling sobs, her mothers wailing cries, her fathers continuous tirade, his fist slamming on to the table before him. Only Atticus and another were silent.
Borne on the back of Hadrias hope, Atticuss confidence had risen over the previous week as they waited for her fathers return to Rome. They had continued to meet in secret, but she had begun to speak openly of her hopes for the future with a certainty that had allayed Atticuss doubts, a certainty he had carried with him when theyd entered the family house only minutes before, a certainty that had evaporated the second he saw her fathers face.
Antoninus had understood immediately the significance of his daughter arriving with Atticus. How long have you been seeing this this man? he snarled.
Hadria told him, her breath catching in her throat.
Does anyone know, has anyone seen you? her mother, Salonina, said hastily, her face a mask of concern and horror.
No, Hadria answered, angered by her mothers repulsed tone.
What were you thinking? Salonina asked.
I love him, Mother, Hadria replied, and she looked to Atticus, her face a mask of sorrow.
You cannot, Antoninus shouted. He is barbarus, a foreigner.
He is of Rome, Septimus interjected. He had never wanted Hadria and Atticus to be together, but he could no longer hold his peace, ashamed of his fathers attack on Atticus, a man who had risked everything many times for Rome.
Antoninus turned to his son, seeing the defiance in his face, and he suddenly understood. You knew of this? he hissed.
I knew, Septimus replied. And I tried to stop it.
You were in league with him, this Greek, against your own family? Antoninus roared. By the gods, Septimus, you were a man of honour, an optio of the Ninth. This navy, this collection of nothi and barbari, has defiled you, defiled your honour
Enough, Atticus roared, and he fixed his gaze on Antoninus as the room went silent. The older man was burning with hostility, the scar running through his left eye giving him a maniacal expression, and Atticus felt his temper slip beyond his control. He had held his tongue in the forlorn hope that Hadrias parents would overcome their initial shock, knowing that anything he uttered would only refocus their anger, but now he had heard enough to know that their opposition was absolute.
You have said enough, Antoninus, he said.
You have no voice here, Greek, Antoninus replied, a hard edge to his voice. I fought your people at Beneventum and I will be damned if one of you will dictate to me in my own house. He turned to Hadria. I forbid you to see this man again, he ordered, and Hadria stumbled back as if struck, her shoulders falling in utter defeat. She looked to Atticus, her heart breaking, and she fled from the room.
Now get out, Greek, Antoninus snarled. And do not darken my door again.
The utter contempt of Antoninuss words and the sight of Hadrias flight snapped Atticuss temper, and he stepped forward, his hand falling to the hilt of his dagger.
Atticus, Septimus shouted, and moved between him and his father, the unarmed centurion holding his hands out defensively. Atticus froze and looked to Septimus, then beyond him to the undaunted Antoninus, and for a second his anger drove him to the brink of attack. He stared again into Septimuss face, seeing the plea for restraint, and finally he shook his head and left the room.
Atticus strode through the atrium, his mind in turmoil as a flood of conflicting emotions swept over him. His pace slackened as he heard sobbing and he whispered Hadrias name. She stepped out from within a doorway and the conflict within him abated at the sight of her distress. He went to her and she fell into his arms, burying her face in the hollow of his shoulder.
I couldnt let you leave, she sobbed. Not without saying goodbye.
This isnt goodbye, Atticus said soothingly. Ill come back for you. In time well be together.
No, we wont, she whispered, the anguish of her words bringing fresh tears to her eyes. My father has forbidden it, I cannot defy him.
But we are in love, Atticus said, confused by her submission.
My father has the power of the pater familias, the head of this household, she said. If I disobey him he will disavow me. I would be an outcast amongst my people.
It is no more than I am, Atticus said, suddenly angry.
Please understand, Atticus, Hadria said, a desperate plea in her voice. Rome my family; it is all I know, the whole world to me.
There is a world outside of Rome, Hadria, Atticus said. We could be together there. Leave this city, come with me.
I cant, she said, and seeing his face colour in anger she reached out for him. Please, Atticus. You cannot ask me to choose, not when I have no choice.
Atticus heard her words and his anger increased, not against Hadria, but against the cursed city that kept her from him. He looked down to her upturned face and a wave of regret drove the fight from his body.
So Im not accepted in your world and you cannot live outside it, he said, the words coming slowly. Then you were right, Hadria. We cannot be together. And with a final brief kiss he swept past her out of the house.
Scipio rose to his feet to accept the nomination for consul, nodding to the senator who had put forward his name, his expression one of gratitude and mild surprise. A smattering of applause answered his acknowledgement, but it quickly died in the tense atmosphere of the chamber, and all eyes turned once more to the podium. The princeps senatus scanned the tiered seating, searching for further nominations, but none were forthcoming. He struck the podium with his gavel to bring the chamber to order.
Senators of Rome, he began, and Scipio took his eyes from the speaker to search the faces of the Senate members. The names of the five nominees were called out in turn. Two consuls would be elected from the five, with the senior position going to the senator with the most votes and the junior to the runner-up. Scipio dismissed the first three, knowing they had little or no support, their misdirected ambition matched only by their foolishness. They were no threat. The fourth name, however, was confirmation of what Scipio had suspected over the previous week.
He was Aulus Atilius Caiatinus, a young man who had served five years in the Senate. He was a patrician but, unlike his peers, he openly supported the progressive faction in the Senate. This placed him firmly in Duiliuss camp and Scipio sought him out on the far side of the chamber, noting his position relative to Duilius, who sat in the back row. The final name was Scipios, and again he nodded as many eyes turned at the mention of his voice.
With an announcement from the podium, the first of the nominees stood to make a speech in support of his candidacy. He was quickly followed by the second and the third. While Scipios expression remained inscrutable throughout the speeches, underneath he mocked the naivete of the nominees. Over the previous week he had invested every shred of his political capital into the election for senior consul. He had called on every carefully nurtured alliance; where none existed, he had resorted to electoral bribery, combining the silver of his treasury with honeyed promises of post-election favours to guarantee votes from the unscrupulous.
As the third candidate sat, Caiatinus stood to speak. He began in a low, sonorous voice that lent gravity to his words, describing how he was the best candidate to lead the Republic in the perilous times ahead. His speech was carefully contrived and he subtly criticized Paulluss loss of the fleet, drawing attention to the dead consuls allegiance to the old order of Rome, an allegiance that had made him inflexible and unable to adapt to the conditions of the new war being raged on the sea against Carthage.
Caiatinus then spoke of his rival candidates, focusing on each one in turn. His attack on each character was ingeniously understated, providing Caiatinus with a false ethical superiority and, as he came to Scipio, he looked towards his chief rival, speaking his name in full, deliberately drawing out the pronunciation of his unofficial cognomen, Asina. Scipio bristled at the insult but kept his expression dismissive, careful not to reveal how deep the wound to his pride still ran.
The end of Caiatinuss speech was met with enthusiastic applause, and Scipio was given brief seconds to scan the chamber and ascertain who amongst the undecided had been influenced by the senators words. In the silence that followed, Scipio stood and began the speech Fabiola and he had crafted.