Captain of Rome by John Stack Page A

features made prominent by the sea water that had seemingly washed the very blood from his face, his skin stark against the deep red of the tunic which had caught Atticus’s eye.
    ‘He’s dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion,’ Septimus said without looking up, putting his head to the man’s chest once more. He stood up. ‘He’ll need rest and fresh water.’
    ‘Will he live?’ Atticus asked.
    Septimus nodded. ‘He’s young and strong,’ he said, and as if bidden the man stirred slightly, his hand rising and falling again across his stomach.
    Atticus instantly ordered the crew to pick him up. ‘Take him to the main cabin,’ he ordered without thinking, suddenly catching Varro’s eye at the edge of the circle, the tribune looking up with an aggravated expression, ‘with your permission, Tribune.’ Atticus added.
    Varro nodded curtly and spun around, his exit creating a gap in the circle through which the crewmen carried the man to the main cabin below. Septimus followed, the young man now in his charge.
    Regulus stepped warily through the throng of senators on the floor of the Senate house, catching the eye of many as they nodded a greeting. The men were clustered in groups, talking animatedly before the familiar hammer of a gavel, signalling the beginning of the first session of the day, would hastenthem all to their seats. Their discussions were almost frenetic in their tempo, as if the dreary debates scheduled for the day could be mitigated by a couple of minutes of interesting conversation about the consulship elections that were due on the morrow.
    Regulus engaged with no-one, skirting the groups to avoid being dragged into a discussion. His gaze sought many of the senators however, surreptitiously watching them, eavesdropping on their conversations as he moved past, trying to guess which ones might be the junior senators that Scipio claimed to secretly control. As he reached the edge of the throng, Regulus spotted the consul seated alone in the centre of the semi-circular seating that framed the central podium of the chamber. Scipio sat with an emotionless expression, his eyes scanning the room, ever restless. Regulus made to approach but thought better of the idea, turning away instead to make his way to his own seat.
    A loud hammering sound filled the vaulted chamber and the three hundred senators took to their seats, the men sitting as individuals, loose confederations and close-knit factions, the fluid ever-changing political landscape placing former confederates beside current adversaries. Regulus sat on the right hand of the speaker, a side increasingly associated with the Patrician class of the ancient Roman families although it was near impossible to gauge the loyalties of every senator and dividing lines were only as stable as the last vote taken in each session.
    ‘Senators of Rome,’ the speaker of the house called as the chamber came to order, the underlying murmur of a hundred conversations dissipating in the still morning air. ‘Before we begin the business of the day, Gaius Duilius,’ the speaker continued, as he nodded towards the junior consul seated firmly in the centre of the left, ‘the junior consul, has requested a brief audience with the chamber.’
    Duilius stood and acknowledged the speaker with a nod, his unscheduled request prompting a light patter of applause that rose in intensity as Duilius made his way towards the podium. Regulus’s heart skipped a beat at the sight and he clapped unconsciously, his mind racing to the conversation he had had the night before with Scipio and the premonition made that was transpiring before his very eyes. He looked briefly to Scipio but the consul’s gaze was firmly fixed on his enemy.
    Duilius 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