‘I could back you, financially,’ Longus ventured.
‘No, my friend,’ Duilius said smiling, ‘you do not have the resources.’
Longus nodded in silence.
‘But I could back you,’ Duilius continued in a near whisper.
Scipio glanced furtively over his shoulder as his entourage turned yet another corner in the warren of streets that made up the ancient Esquiline quarter of Rome. It was two hours past sunset and the feeble light of the rising quarter moon barely penetrated the heavy shadow cast by the hill which dominated the entire quarter. Scipio’s four heavily armed guards moved cautiously and silently in an effort to remain inconspicuous. Each man was a veteran of the legions, battle scarred and experienced; their courage without question and yet they moved with the trepidation of raw recruits, their swords drawn and ready in a defensive circle around the senator. Scipio sensed their nervousness and he consciously reached beneath his robe for the hilt of his own dagger, fingering the pommel lightly before wrapping his hand around the hilt. The jewelled handle was warm in his grip and he withdrew the blade an inch from its scabbard, testing the fluidity of his draw, the familiar motion calming his nerve.
The scurrying sound of feet caused Scipio to stop suddenly and his guard halted without command, all eyes turned to their right in an effort to penetrate the darkness and identify the perpetrators. Scipio turned his head slightly in order to extend the limit of his hearing but the sound had dissipated and the streets were silent once more. He began to walk warily on and his guard moved again as one, eager to complete their journey to the house that lay just beyond the next corner. Scipio felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest once more and drew in a deep breath to ease its tempo, ignoring the stench of the fetid night air. As his heart rate returned to normal he cursed once more the necessity of the late hour of his meeting, knowing that the risk of travelling through the streets of Rome at night were enormous, even in one of the most affluent quarters of the city. The darkness belonged to the roving gangs of starving poor who took to the streets at night, scavenging for food scraps and prowling for naive visitors to the city or drunks caught unawares by nightfall. They killed without hesitation or fear of retribution, the darkness hiding their vicious crime and Scipio knew he would only be safe behind the walls and stout doors that protected each house in the quarter.
As the group rounded the last quarter Scipio immediately spied the torch illuminating the door of their destination. It was the only light on the street, acting not only as a beacon for him and his men but also as a sign to the roving gangs that the gate would be in use and Scipio’s guards increased their vigilance as they covered the final yards of their journey. The lead soldier reached the door and tapped it lightly with the pommel of his sword and a small, face-high panel slid open in the door to reveal a wary expression in shadow. The eyes moved left and right but settled on the figure of Scipio who stood in the centre of the group, his own face bathed in the orange glow of the torch. The panel slid shut and the door reverberated with the sound of a series of bolts being withdrawn, the grating sound of metal unnaturally loud in the deceptively quiet street.
Scipio passed first through the doorway into the dimly lit courtyard, never looking back as the door closed firmly behind him, his gaze instead searching the gloom for the man he had made the hazardous journey to meet. The courtyard was empty however, save for the doorman and a servant standing by the inner door to the house and Scipio reflected bitterly at the fall in his political status. Marcus Atilius Regulus was Scipio’s equal, a former consul and member of the Patrician class, but Scipio was still in office and so etiquette demanded that Regulus should meet Scipio on the threshold of the door to the inner house. He was nowhere to be seen however, and Scipio was forced to swallow the insult in an effort to remain focused on his goal.
Regulus sat in the formal greeting room of his house, reclined on a confusion of cushions, a half-filled goblet of wine lolling in his hand. He was a heavyset man with a high colour that was accentuated by the candle and torchlight that infused the room. He stared at the doorway which led to the atrium beyond but his vision was without focus, his mind endlessly pondering a single question, ‘Why did Scipio want to meet him?’ The messenger had arrived earlier that day, Scipio’s note brief and without allusion, the demand for a meeting thinly disguised as a request. Regulus had immediately sent word of acceptance, knowing he could not refuse the consul, even if ostensibly Scipio was a spent force in Rome.
‘The consul has arrived,’ a servant announced from the doorway and Regulus waved the man away as he leaned forward to stand up. He had previously decided to deny Scipio the normal respect due to a sitting consul and not meet him at the main door, but basic civility demanded that he greet him as a guest and so Regulus placed his goblet on the low table and moved towards the doorway. A moment later Scipio swept into the room.
‘Good evening, Consul,’ Regulus said, his voice a high pitched tone that seemed to emanate from the back of his throat, his face breaking into a forced smile.
‘Good evening, Regulus,’ Scipio replied, his own expression a perfect mask of friendship, a practiced skill that hid his true feelings.
Regulus motioned to the raised seating area in the centre of the room, an open-sided square of low couches around a table lain with a sprawling feast, a banquet fit for a multitude of two.
‘Please,’ Regulus motioned with his hand, allowing Scipio to be seated first as the guest.
Scipio nodded and took the seat vacated moments before by Regulus at the head of the table, intentionally occupying the most important position, a seat normally reserved for the host and only relinquished to the most honoured of guests. It was a subtle point but with it Scipio retook the advantage in the continual power-play that had become almost instinctive after so many years in the Senate. For an instant Regulus’s expression showed disapproval but he instantly swept it aside with a smile and he sat to Scipio’s right, clapping his hands lightly as a signal for the servants to enter and begin serving the evening meal.
For the next thirty minutes the two men talked of inconsequential matters, touching lightly on matters debated every day in the Senate. It was mere foreplay, courtesy and convention dictating that the more serious topics be avoided until after the meal was ended. Regulus however, was unable to contain his curiosity and he blurted out his opening question before the servants had completed clearing the largely untouched food.
‘So what brings you to my humble abode after dark, Consul? Why the need for such secrecy?’ he asked.
Scipio was forced to summon all his will power in an effort to remain calm at Regulus’s vulgarity but his voice betrayed his inner anger as he leaned into the senator.
‘Dismiss your servants first,’ he breathed in a near whisper, the timbre of his voice disguising his anger.
Regulus was taken aback slightly by the request but he complied and within seconds the two men were alone in the room.
‘I have come,’ Scipio began slowly, committing himself fully to the plan he had devised, ‘to make you a proposition, Regulus. I have come to offer you the position of senior consul.’
Regulus was stunned, disbelief robbing him of a response. Scipio was mad, surely unhinged if he believed he could offer such a thing. He was still senior consul but only in name and even that for only a few days more. His enemies in the Senate openly mocked him using the cognomen they had conferred upon him after Lipara. Asina, they called him, the donkey. The word made Regulus smile involuntarily and before he could stop himself he was laughing uproariously at the absurdity of the moment, a morsel of food shooting from his mouth as his face twisted in mockery.
Scipio felt his entire body tense in sudden rage as he witnessed Regulus’s response. His fist clenched into a tight ball and an almost insurmountable urge swept down his arm, his anger screaming at him to ram his fist into the face across from him. He conquered his emotions once more and let Regulus expend his laughter until the room lapsed once more into silence.
‘My apologies, Scipio,’ Regulus said with false sincerity. ‘Since your request for a meeting I have searched