Master of Rome. John Stack

important to persuade Paullus. ‘Orion has risen, Consul,’ he began. ‘We must wait for Sirius.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ Paullus asked irritably.

      ‘The weather, Consul. Between the rising of Orion and Sirius there is too great a risk of severe weather in those waters.’

      This time Paullus laughed, a mocking tone that brought a smile of derision to the lips of many of the Roman officers. ‘The weather cannot stop the will of Rome,’ he said curtly. ‘My order stands. We sail with the tide tomorrow.’

      The officers saluted once more and walked away. Only Atticus did not move.

      ‘You’re dismissed, Perennis,’ Paullus said angrily, the Greek’s stubbornness irritating him.

      ‘Consul, the southwest coast is hostile and there are no safe harbours north of Agrigentum,’ Atticus continued, knowing his chance was slipping away. ‘Ask any of the experienced sailors in the fleet. If we hit bad weather—’

      ‘Enough,’ Paullus snapped, his patience at an end. He stepped forward and leaned in until his face was inches from Atticus’s.

      ‘You fought well at Cape Hermaeum, Perennis,’ he said coldly, ‘and for that I will forgive this insubordination. But only this one time. Now get off my ship.’

      Atticus stood back and saluted, his expression unreadable. Underneath, frustration consumed him.

      Hamilcar looked up at the soaring height of the Byrsa citadel as he made his way towards the columned entrance to the Council chamber. He paused and traced the ancient walls from their base to the towering battlements, oblivious to the people stepping around him, many of them muttering curses of annoyance, the teeming streets having little tolerance for the unhurried.

      The citadel was a sight that had never before failed to lift Hamilcar’s spirits, but on this day it did not lighten his mood and, after a moment, he continued on, slipping into a current in the crowd that brought him quickly to his destination. He stepped into the cool interior, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom, and made his way across the marble floor, his footfalls mingling with the echoing sounds from the outer hall. He stopped at the antechamber door and knocked, entering as he heard a muffled summons from within. He closed the door behind him and looked to the two men in the room in turn. He was conscious of keeping a neutral expression, though, hiding his respect for the first man and his loathing for the second.

      Hasdrubal smiled and stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and Hamilcar took it, matching the strength of the older man’s grip, the brief contact invigorating him.

      ‘It is good to see you, Father,’ he said.

      ‘And you, Hamilcar,’ Hasdrubal replied, although his face showed his concern at how exhausted his son looked.

      Hamilcar released his father’s hand and turned to the other man, Hanno. He was a massive figure, broad in the chest and stomach, and Hamilcar nodded to him perfunctorily, his gesture ignored. He turned once more to his father.

      ‘I came as soon as I got your message.’

      Hasdrubal nodded. ‘The meeting with the One Hundred and Four went well?’

      ‘As well as I could have expected,’ Hamilcar replied. ‘On balance, the victory at Tunis outweighs the loss at Cape Hermaeum. The city is secure for now and I retain my command.’

      ‘Congratulations, Hamilcar,’ Hanno said sardonically, stepping forward, his movements slow and deliberate. ‘I see your ability to delude those old men continues to save you.’

      ‘My record alone speaks for me, Hanno,’ Hamilcar replied scathingly. ‘And the One Hundred and Four know my worth.’

      Hanno smiled, as if conceding the point, although Hamilcar sensed the councillor could see through his confident tone.

      The One Hundred and Four was a council of judges that oversaw all military matters in the empire, their number drawn from the retired commanders who had served Carthage with distinction. Hamilcar’s mandate to command was based on their approval, with success being the main criterion; although Hamilcar had been victorious at Tunis, he had been forced to defend his actions at Cape Hermaeum, an argument that had fully tested the oratorical skills his father had taught him.

      ‘The Supreme Council meets at noon,’ Hasdrubal said, conscious of the time and impatient of the conflict between Hanno and his son. ‘We need to reach a consensus on how best to proceed.’

      Hanno grumbled in agreement and walked once more to the far side of the room. Over the previous years, two factions had emerged on the Supreme Council. One, led by Hanno, was opposed to the war in Sicily and believed that the empire should expand in Africa, and the other, led by Hasdrubal, supported the Sicilian campaign. Prior to the current alliance, the two factions had frequently hamstrung each other, with neither cause prevailing. Coupled with this, Hanno had shared command with Hamilcar in their defeat at Cape Ecnomus. It was only their agreed mutual support after the battle that had saved both their careers. Hanno despised his coalition with the Barcid clan, but for now it was in his best interest to maintain the union, his fate inexorably tied to each man. So before he turned back to face the father and son, he buried his animosity beneath a thin veneer of unity.

      ‘Where is the Roman fleet now?’

      ‘Our spies tell us the entire fleet sailed east for Sicily two days ago,’ Hamilcar replied.

      ‘Do we know their final destination?’

      ‘No,’ Hamilcar conceded. ‘Although, given the time of year, I suspect they will make directly for the safety of their harbour in Agrigentum and wait there until Sirius has risen.’

      ‘How long?’ Hasdrubal asked.

      ‘Less than two weeks. After that the weather will once more be in their favour.’

      ‘Then you must be in Sicily when they move,’ Hasdrubal said.

      ‘I will sail for Lilybaeum,’ Hamilcar said. ‘The Romans will strike either there or Panormus.’

      ‘What do you need?’ his father asked.

      Hamilcar didn’t hesitate. ‘The fleet stationed in Gadir.’

      ‘Impossible,’ Hanno scoffed, stepping forward to argue. ‘It is the only fleet we have left in Iberia.’

      ‘Nevertheless,’ Hamilcar replied, ‘I need those galleys if I am to protect the northwestern approaches to Sicily and continue the war there.’

      Hasdrubal remained silent and looked to Hanno, knowing there was no point in trying to persuade his rival. The One Hundred and Four appointed commanders and approved strategy, but it was the Supreme Council that steered the direction of any conflict, and that included the disposition of the empire’s forces. Hasdrubal wished only to know Hanno’s counter-proposal, the price he would demand for supporting Hamilcar’s request.

      ‘What will it take for your support?’ Hasdrubal asked of Hanno.

      ‘I will agree to release the fleet at Gadir to Hamilcar’s command,’ Hanno said to Hasdrubal after a pause, ‘on condition that his land forces now based in Tunis are given over to my command.’

      ‘You still intend to continue the war against the Numidian kingdoms?’ Hasdrubal asked incredulously, and Hanno simply nodded, not deigning to argue his position. Hamilcar made to interject, but his father shot him a look, warning him to hold his tongue. His son had no voice in negotiations at this level.

      Hasdrubal held Hanno’s gaze, but behind his eyes he was examining his rival’s proposal. Throughout the conflict with the Romans, Hanno had also pursued a land war against the Numidians to the south. That campaign had only been suspended when the Romans invaded Africa, every resource having been recalled to defend Carthage. Now that the Roman threat had been eliminated, Hasdrubal was forced to concede there was no argument to prevent Hanno from restarting his campaign.

      ‘Agreed,’