Masters of the Sea Trilogy: Ship of Rome, Captain of Rome, Master of Rome. John Stack

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СКАЧАТЬ and so, as yet, their supply hubs were still a closely guarded secret.

      ‘I believe we have time on our side for the moment,’ Scipio began, every man now hanging on his words, the same officers nodding agreement who moments ago had advocated haste. ‘The Carthaginians hold ports further west of our location,’ he continued, pointing to the ports of Thermae and Panormus. ‘They will need time to discover and confirm our supply routes. That time will give us the opportunity to implement some minor countermeasures. Measures such as using circuitous routes to port and forming smaller fleets of transport barges to make detection more difficult. It will also give me time to consult the Senate before making my decision on how best to proceed with annihilating this new threat. For now, the legions must act as if nothing has changed. We still have a campaign to win and an enemy to beat.’

      The officers voiced their agreement in unison, trusting the senior consul, who seemed completely confident in his assessment of the threat. Scipio raised his hand for silence and looked over at Atticus, who now stood outside the circle of officers around the table. He consciously swept aside his intuitive mistrust of the non-Roman, knowing he had to take advantage of the younger man’s experience.

      ‘And you, Captain Perennis,’ he asked of Atticus. ‘As the only naval commander here, what are your thoughts on the matter?’

      All the officers turned around to look at Atticus, many with a look of mild astonishment and disdain that the opinion of a lowly captain was being sought. Once again Atticus had been taken off guard by a question from the consul. He had expected to be dismissed after giving his report and so he and Septimus had drifted back to the periphery of the group. Now he was once again the centre of attention.

      ‘I agree that we may have time on our hands as the Carthaginians organize their blockade of the northern and eastern coasts. However, I would advise against sending supplies once that blockade is in place, even using different routes or smaller fleets as you suggest.’ Atticus saw a number of tribunes bristle at this contradiction of the consul’s view, but Scipio’s expression, as inscrutable as ever, did not show censure.

      ‘I believe the Carthaginians are amongst the best seamen in the world,’ he continued, ‘master planners in both logistics and naval tactics. Any attempt to outmanoeuvre their blockade will result in failure.’

      Again Atticus’s remarks drew angry mutterings from some of the tribunes as he openly praised the enemy, but he continued undaunted. ‘The only successful strategy will be to defeat them in battle and destroy the blockade,’ he concluded, his final opinion greeted with icy silence.

      Two of the tribunes snorted in derision and turned their backs on the captain, their focus returning to the consul, waiting for him to aggressively refute Atticus’s opinion, but Scipio simply nodded. ‘Thank you, Captain,’ he said. Scipio addressed his senior officers once more.

      ‘While time may be on our side, the next few weeks are vital if we are to overcome this threat. Any indecisiveness in our actions will be catastrophic. I will therefore leave for Rome now, immediately. Word must reach the Senate and I must be the one to deliver it. As the sea is still the fastest route to Rome, I will trust my life to those who have already bested the Punici. I will travel to Rome on the Aquila.’

      Both Atticus and Septimus straightened up as once again all eyes in the room turned to them. Their course had been set … to Rome, to the centre of the Republic and the civilized world, escorting the most important man of the Republic.

      ‘We leave in one hour,’ Scipio said, dismissing the officers of the Aquila.

      ‘Marcus! You old bastard,’ Septimus called as he and Atticus entered the junior officers’ mess, immediately recognizing his old commander from the IV maniple of the Ninth.

      ‘Septimus!’

      The two men met in the middle of the room and shook hands, smiling happily at each other, their meeting the first since the Battle of Agrigentum over a year before. Marcus was ten years older than Septimus, a tall, thin man and, although he was in the declining years of his prime, he still possessed an iron-hard physique and a will and discipline to match.

      ‘How is Antoninus?’ Marcus asked. ‘Still the same old tyrant?’

      ‘As hard as ever,’ Septimus replied, proud of his father’s reputation as one of the toughest centurions who had ever commanded a maniple of the Ninth.

      ‘Marcus,’ Septimus continued, turning to Atticus, ‘this is Captain Atticus Milonius Perennis of the Aquila.’

      The centurion was about to proffer his hand but he stayed the gesture, his eyes suddenly unfriendly.

      ‘A Greek? By the gods, Septimus,’ he said, turning to the marine, ‘I cursed the day you accepted your promotion to centurion in the marines, but now I find you command with the very people your father and I fought at Beneventum.’

      Atticus stepped forward, incensed by the unwarranted insult, but Septimus stepped into his path, his hand raised across Atticus’s sword arm.

      ‘Atticus has fought for the Republic for as long as I have, for as many years as half the men in this room. His loyalty is without question.’

      Marcus was about to retort but he held his tongue, recalling the bond of friendship he had with Septimus and what a mentor Septimus’s father, Antoninus, had been. He slowly proffered his hand once more, his expression this time unreadable.

      Atticus remained motionless, his own gaze hostile.

      ‘Any friend of Septimus’s is a comrade of the Ninth,’ Marcus prompted.

      The words seemed hollow to Atticus; however, he shook the centurion’s proffered hand.

      ‘A naval captain, eh?’ Marcus asked, measuring him. ‘What brings you and this orphan of the Ninth to our camp?’

      ‘Grave news,’ Septimus said, recapturing Marcus’s attention, all humour now gone from his voice.

      Marcus indicated a crowded table with a nod of his head and all three sat down. The other centurions looked on in silence, many leaning in to hear the news that had wrought such a change in the expression of the young marine.

      ‘Go on …’ Marcus said, prompting Septimus to begin.

      ‘Carthaginians,’ he began, ‘a whole fleet of them, Marcus. Off the northern coast. We expect a full blockade within weeks.’

      ‘Merciful Jupiter,’ Marcus breathed.

      The centurion was a keen disciple of logistics, as were all centurions by necessity. The success and readiness of his maniple depended in large part on how well it was supplied. No supplies meant no replacements of armour, weapons, and the myriad simple but necessary items needed to keep a modern, effective army in the field.

      ‘So what’s the plan?’ Marcus finally asked, breaking the silence, the younger centurions deferring to the most experienced man in the room.

      ‘We sail for Rome …’ Septimus replied ‘… to escort the senior consul to the Senate.’

      ‘And the legions?’

      ‘Scipio ordered that the legions must act as if nothing has changed,’ Septimus said, remembering the senior consul’s words in the earlier meeting, ‘so the Ninth and Second СКАЧАТЬ