LITMIR.BIZ

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senior consul watched his wife intently, waiting for her reaction. She was a highly intelligent woman, and Scipio often used her as a sounding board for his ideas. Her thoughts and judgements on any matter were always of value, and he had found that her reaction to his ideas was always in line with his own views.

      ‘This is an opportunity,’ she said after a full minute, ‘an opportunity for you, Gnaeus.’

      Scipio nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly,’ he replied. ‘The Punici have already been beaten on land by our forces. Given time we would push them back into the sea from whence they came. Another victory for the legions. Another province for the Republic. Nothing new and exciting for the populace of Rome.’

      ‘But now the Carthaginians have raised the stakes,’ Fabiola added, prompting the continuation of Scipio’s thoughts, knowing his idea’s end.

      ‘Yes,’ Scipio said, ‘they have raised the stakes, and they have changed the rules of the game. Our legions have never before faced such a challenge. This threat will fire the imagination and excitement of the plebeians. Their attention will be drawn to the previously insignificant campaign on Sicily by the new struggle developing.’

      ‘And you will save the legions,’ Fabiola said with a smile, her own body tingling with the excitement of her husband deciding the fate of so many.

      ‘I will save the legions,’ Scipio agreed. ‘I will create the navy that will defeat the Carthaginians and the people will cheer this new show of strength, this new extension of our power.’

      ‘They will love you and demand you break tradition and stay to serve another year,’ she said, speaking of the prize they had often discussed.

      ‘And I will finally break the asinine rules that bound my term as senior consul and extend my power into another year,’ Scipio said with a triumphant smile.

      Fabiola suddenly stood up, her eyes locked to those of her husband, the power emanating from him intoxicating, charging the air in the room with an unseen energy that drew her towards him. Her body ached to feed off that power, to draw directly from its source.

      ‘Leave us,’ she commanded the attendant slave, and he instantly vanished.

      She stepped to the side of the bath and unbuckled the shoulder straps of her stola, allowing the outer dress to fall around her ankles, revealing the thigh-length silk tunica intima beneath. Fabiola slowly lowered herself down the marble steps of the bath into the waist-deep warm water. Standing directly opposite her husband, she bent her knees and immersed herself completely beneath the surface before standing once more.

      The silken slip clung to her body as she rose out of the water, the feminine swell of her breasts accentuated by the slow deep breathing of her anticipation, her arousal obvious by the darkened circles of her nipples under her tunica.

      Scipio sat straighter on the underwater shelf of the tepidarium bath as his wife slowly approached, his eyes watching her hands grasp the bottom of her slip as she raised it slowly to reveal her sex. As Fabiola reached him, Scipio extended his arms and supported her climb to place a knee on each side of his waist before sitting into his embrace. The heat between them deepened as their movements intensified, their mingled cries echoing off the marbled walls of the private chamber, the power play that aroused them driving their passion.

      Amaury, Scipio’s bath attendant, listened silently on the other side of the tepidarium chamber’s door. His dismissal moments before had been unexpected but he dared not let the opportunity pass. The cries of his master and mistress could be heard faintly through the thick oak timbers of the door and he knew that time was now against him. There were few secrets in a home full of slaves, and the consul and his wife’s intimate couplings were always juicy conversation for the slave women of the house. This time would be like all others, aggressive, passionate but, more importantly, short-lived. Soon the consul’s wife would leave him and his summons for Amaury would immediately follow. He had to be quick. Dropping the linen towels he carried to the floor, Amaury turned and ran to the slave quarters at the rear of the house, praying that Tiago, the stable lad, could be found in time.

      ‘Towels!’ Scipio called impatiently, this second call louder than the unanswered first. After Fabiola had left, he had lain back in the water once more, his confidence in his plan renewed by his wife’s tacit acceptance of the plan’s main tenets, the never-before-encountered threat, the mortal peril of the legions, Scipio’s central role in the rescue of the soldiers of Rome. Handled properly, the conquering of Sicily would give the senior consul the power and immortality he craved. He was sure of that now more than ever.

      Scipio raised his head and turned towards the door that had earlier been exited by the attendant slave. He was not used to asking twice for anything, from anyone, least of all a slave, and he vowed the man would be severely punished if it was found that he had left him unattended.

      ‘Towels!’ he roared, and began to raise himself out of the water when the door burst open as the slave reappeared.

      ‘What is the meaning of this delay?’ Scipio asked furiously as the slave ran to proffer a towel to him.

      ‘A thousand apologies, master,’ Amaury said with his head bowed, his voice servile in the presence of the man who could, at a whim, have him executed. ‘I could not hear your summons through the heavy oak door.’

      Scipio looked down on the man before him. The slave was breathing heavily, as if from exertion, but more likely from fear. It hardly seemed probable that the slave had left him waiting on purpose.

      Scipio whipped the towel out of the slave’s hand and brushed past him into the outer corridor, calling for the slave master of the house. He arrived immediately.

      ‘Six lashes for this man,’ Scipio ordered, and the slave master moved into the tepidarium chamber to take hold of the slave. Next time he would be more attentive, Scipio thought with a careless attitude, and strode into the frigidarium chamber, the final room and the cold bath that would end the ritual.

      Out of the corner of his eye, Amaury watched the senior consul leave. He kept his head low and his face impassive but inside he smiled. Six lashes, he thought: a small price to pay for the silver he would receive from his real master.

      Scipio strode out into the courtyard of his home as the sun was beginning to descend into the western hills of the Roman countryside. With spring in the offing, these cool afternoons would soon give way to the warmer winds of the new season, when the air would be filled with the scent of blossoms from the manicured gardens surrounding the house. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for a heartbeat, feeling an enormous sense of wellbeing. It had been less than ninety minutes since he had passed the Curia, but the brief interlude, the bath, a light meal, the time spent with his wife, had recharged him to the point that his confidence felt unassailable.

      Scipio noted that the two officers of the Aquila were waiting, as ordered, with his personal guard. The senior consul nodded to the guard commander and the main gate of the courtyard out to the street beyond was opened. Scipio fell in behind four of his guards with six more trailing, and the troop began the brief journey that would take them back to the Forum Magnum. Scipio always felt a deep sense of satisfaction and importance as he strode through the streets of his city. People all around would stop and stare at the passing senator, many pointing out to strangers the distinctive figure of the senior consul, the most powerful man in Rome.

      The group wound its way into the shade of the eastern side of the Capitoline Hill. On the left Scipio noticed the intense flurried activity of the Forum Holitorium, a section of the mercantile food market that dealt solely with fruit, vegetables and oil. He smiled inwardly at the sight, the source of his rival’s wealth. Scipio was a direct descendant of one of the original patricii, the founding fathers of the Roman Senate, which had been established nearly three hundred years before. As such he was a member of the patrician class, the Roman elite of upper-class families who continued to make up the majority of the Senate. His rival Duilius, however, was a member of the equestrian middle class; he had clawed his way up using ‘new money’, wielding his wealth like a blunt

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