Captain of Rome - John Stack

Скачать книгу

walked with a determined stride and many of the senators sat straighter in their seats in anticipation, the comfortable slouch they had adopted for the scheduled debates thrown off as expectation filled the chamber. He whispered a brief thanks into the speaker’s ear as he took to the podium, the old senator nodding gravely as if his consent to allow Duilius to speak was anything more than a mere powerless formality.

      The junior consul stood with his arms straight, his hands gripping the sides of the podium, his upper body leaning forward to convey the significance of his words.

      ‘My fellow Senators,’ he began. ‘It has been my esteemed honour to serve you and the city of Rome as junior consul this past year.’

      A brief applause broke the silence before it was engulfed again by the palatable tension of the chamber.

      ‘It has been a significant year for the Republic, one which has seen our city embark on a new frontier, a bold courageous endeavour which has, I have no doubt, brought pride to the hearts of our ancestors, the men who built this mighty city and who, even now, look down upon this chamber from Elysium.’

      Again the senators clapped politely at Duilius’s words, many willing the consul to get beyond the self congratulatory preamble to the crux of his speech.

      ‘I have been fortunate to have been part of Rome’s success in her first naval battle,’ Duilius continued, his words neatly ignoring and condemning to oblivion the disaster at Lipara, and for a brief heartbeat his gaze rested on Scipio before ranging over the expectant faces of the entire chamber, ‘and I hope I have done my duty as your consul.’

      Loud applause and sporadic cheers filled the chamber at these words but Duilius raised his hands for silence, his request immediately obeyed as the senators sensed the point of Duilius’s speech was at hand.

      ‘My duty done,’ Duilius said, pausing for a second as if the words were hard to articulate, ‘I hereby withdraw my nomination for the position of senior consul and instead I will ask to be considered for the post of censor.’

      The final words of Duilius’s sentence were lost in the uproar that followed as both ally and foe were taken completely unawares by the sudden turn of events, the entire Senate thrown into confusion with Duilius standing steady in the eye of the storm. Only a select few remained calm, their foreknowledge of the announcement insulating them from the maelstrom of questions and confusion.

      Scipio remained seated amidst the turmoil, his eyes veiled, his head tilted back slightly as he drank in the utter chaos his plan had wrought, the sudden disorder that panicked the lesser men of the Senate, leaving them crying out for direction, for leadership. He lowered his head and steadied his gaze to a point on the right of the chamber, instantly catching the eye of Regulus and the older senator nodded imperceptibly. He was committed.

      Scipio’s thoughts were broken by the slowly surfacing sound of Duilius pounding the gavel against the podium. By degrees the chamber returned to order although many of the senators remained standing, their agitation preventing them from retaking their seats.

      ‘My fellow Senators,’ Duilius began again, conscious that this last statement was all important and he paused once more to ensure the chamber was quiet enough for all to hear his words, ‘in withdrawing my nomination so close to the election I realise that the elections scheduled for tomorrow stand in disarray, not least as there are no other nominations for senior consul.’

      A dark murmur of censure met these words but Duilius ignored them, concentrating instead his will on his allies and the undecided majority, ignoring those who now, for the first time, were emboldened to stand openly against him.

      ‘I would therefore,’ Duilius said aloud, once more waiting for the chamber to come to order, ‘I would therefore like to nominate Lucius Manlius Vulso Longus to stand in my stead, a man who will lead this Senate with the same sense of duty that has been the hallmark of my service.’

      Duilius pointed to Longus as he spoke those final words and the senator stood to receive the applause of the Senate, both polite and enthusiastic. The cadre of senators surrounding him, each one an ally of Duilius, shook his hand and slapped him on the shoulder, and Longus raised his hands to still the Senate once more, clearing his throat as he did to make the gracious acceptance speech he and Duilius had crafted the evening before. As the chamber became quiet however, another single voice silenced Longus’s opening words before he could utter them.

      ‘Senators of Rome!’

      All eyes turned to see Regulus standing tall.

      ‘Less than an hour ago this chamber stood poised to elect Gaius Duilius to the position of senior consul on the morrow. It was a fitting decision, an endorsement by this house of the achievements of a man who has served Rome well.’

      There was a murmur of agreement and Regulus paused.

      ‘But,’ he continued, ‘following his withdrawal I believe this election must not become an automatic transfer of votes but must be open to all. Longus is a fine senator; a dutiful servant of Rome.’ Regulus paused and looked directly at Duilius. ‘But our city, our republic is at war and in times of war it is better to be led by the solid hand of experience, not the impulsive hand of youth.’

      A murmur of agreement swept across the chamber.

      ‘You all know me,’ Regulus continued. ‘The senior members of this Senate know my reputation. I have held this highest of offices before and I am ready to lead again. I therefore humbly nominate myself for the position of senior consul, ever conscious that the Senate will decide wisely and elect the most suitable candidate accordingly.’

      The Senate chamber was once more enveloped in deafening sound as Regulus retook his seat. Longus stood motionless as the waves of sound crashed over him, furious that his own moment of triumph had been swept away by Regulus’s sudden entry to the fray, and he desperately turned to his benefactor for guidance.

      Duilius remained standing at the podium, the knuckles of his hands white from the intensity of his grip on the stand. He was speechless, his mind flooded with anger and confusion, and he gazed intently at Regulus, waiting for the movement he knew must occur. It was inconceivable that Regulus was acting alone, that he spontaneously formed the idea to run against Longus, that he was not forewarned. Duilius knew that human nature would cause Regulus to seek out his confederate at their moment of success, if only to share a silent triumphant glance, a secret congratulatory nod. Regulus turned to his left and Duilius immediately scanned the three quarters of the Senate on that side of him. He unconsciously discounted allies and focused on his known enemies, but none seemed to catch his gaze; their faces instead turned all directions as individual debates raged across the Senate. Duilius swept the chamber one last time and as he did, his heart plunged as the identity of Regulus’s associate suddenly became apparent, not because the man was looking back at Regulus but because his gaze was fixed intently at the podium. As Duilius watched a malicious smile spread across his enemy’s face.

      Atticus walked swiftly down the gangway that led to the main cabin at the stern of the Aquila. Below decks the sound of the drum master’s beat was amplified and transmuted into a dull repetitive thud that seemed to emanate from every surface, the heartbeat of the galley heard from within. The hull moved slightly under Atticus’s feet and he put out his hand against the bulkhead to steady himself, the course corrections becoming more frequent as Gaius wove the Aquila through the busy shipping lanes of Naples. The timber felt smooth beneath his palm and Atticus let his hand linger for a second, feeling the grain of the wood, the lines of a once vibrant tree felled and shaped and made alive again as part of a Roman galley.

      The sound of voices could be heard through the main cabin door and Atticus hastened his last remaining steps, stepping through the door without check, the familiar space made welcoming again knowing that Varro was still top-side on the aft-deck. The man who had been rescued by the Aquila’s crew was seated on the cot on the port side of the cabin, his head bowed, but his back straight and the single hour he had spent so far on the Aquila had immeasurably revived him. He looked up, pausing in his conversation with Septimus as Atticus closed the cabin door. The man stood, his

Скачать книгу