“Don’t bother. I need a bath, a pitcher of vino, and a chair on the patio,” Cornelius told him. “Find a room for Optio Decimia. He’ll be staying with us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Near sundown, Cornelius Scipio reclined in the chair, stretched out his legs, sipped good red from a glass, and looked out over the city. For the first time in almost two years, he didn’t have a Legion to train, a mission planned, or an enemy to fight.

  “Sir, how long are we staying in Rome,” Sidia inquired.

  The bodyguard stood off to the right, pivoting his head, switching between the elevated view of Rome from Palatine Hill and the relaxed posture of General Scipio.

  “Sidia, we may never leave, or we may go to a Legion that’s chasing Hannibal,” Cornelius told him. “Or, we might run for political office. How would you feel about being a bodyguard for a Senator?”

  “We already know the streets of the city are dangerous,” Sidia said. “Let me put it like Jace. You are the client, and I’ll always guard your back. But doesn’t a citizen need to be thirty-two to become a Senator?”

  “And it’s forty-two years to be a Consul and a General of Legions,” Cornelius replied. “I did that at twenty-four.”

  Before they could talk more, a cry of pleasure reached them from inside the villa. A moment later, Aemilia Tertia raced across the patio and threw herself at her husband. Cornelius and the Lady of the Villa tumbled to the pavers, then rolled onto the grass. Sidia hurried back into the house, allowing the couple privacy for their reunion.

  ***

  Twenty-four days later, Cornelius and Aemilia rested on sofas. Between them, the remnants of a midday meal lay scattered on a table.

  “No doubt Cornelius, you have earned a rest,” Aemilia mentioned before taking a sip of watered wine. “And the Gods know I love having you home. But there’s a shadow hanging over your homecoming.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to, dear,” Cornelius replied.

  Aemilia rested her glass on the edge of the table. Then she leveled a stern gaze at her husband.

  “For three weeks, you’ve been in the villa as if we’re under siege,” she pointed out. “Except for walks through the gardens, you sit on the patio looking at Rome as if it was in the distance and not just down the hill.”

  “The Senate recalled me from Iberia,” Cornelius confessed, “and they want to hold a hearing about my actions. If I go to them, I could be stripped of my social position and exiled from the Republic. As ironic as that may be, considering the charge of building a royal region in Iberia, I don’t want to be banished from Rome.”

  “I married a warrior. A man who survived the massacre at Cannae where my father died,” Aemilia challenged. “Since when does Cornelius Scipio back down from a fight?”

  Despite the demanding speech, she extended a hand, offering comfort. Cornelius interlaced his fingers with her fingers.

  “If I stay in the compound, until it’s time, I’m safe,” Cornelius stated. “They don’t have the courage to send Legionaries with orders to drag a General of Legions from his villa.”

  “Until it’s time?” Aemilia questioned. “Then you have a plan?”

  “I have a belief,” Cornelius answered.

  Aemilia rocked their arms hard as if testing the strength of their bond. No matter how sharply she jerked, Cornelius’ and Aemilia’s fingers remained interlocked.

  ***

  Two weeks later, Sidia received a package from Jace. He didn’t open it. Rather, the bodyguard carried the bundle to the patio.

  “General, as close as my cousin and I were when we were outlaws,” Sidia announced, “he’s not in the habit of sending me presents.”

  Cornelius gave a long side eye to the wrappings. Then he pulled the bundle onto his lap, unpeeled the leather cover, and glanced inside.

  “Optio Sidia Decimia. Tomorrow you will dress in your best armor and display all of your medals,” Cornelius instructed. “Then you will accompany me to the Senate of Rome.”

  “Is it proper, sir, that a citizen have an armed Legion NCO as a bodyguard?”

  “In the morning, I will submit myself to my judgmental critics,” Cornelius answered. “But they’ll have to rule against a General of Legions and the Prorogatio of Iberia. And not a poor helpless citizen.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sidia stated.

  “Burn this before anyone can decipher the meaning,” Cornelius ordered. He handed back the package and added. “I’m going to talk with Lady Tertia and get her sage advice. Then I’m going to pray for guidance from the Gods. But I have a feeling by then, I’ll already have the best counsel possible.”

  After the General left, Sidia went to a firepit and lit the stacked wood. From the package, he pulled a wineskin. A sample told him it was sweet raisin wine from Carthage. After dumping the valuable wine, he tossed the skin into the fire. Next, being careful to hide the items, he pulled out three tiny spears carved from wood. Two had peacock feathers tied around the shaft while the third had a raven’s feather twisted around the spear. He fed them into the flames. Once the items were ash, Sidia broke up their shapes with a stick to hide the message. Then he went to polish his armor.

  ***

  The Senate of Rome began each session at daybreak. During the prayers and small sacrifices, most of the chamber was in shadows. But rather than hampering the opening rituals, the sacrificial flames glowed brightly in the dark. Once the Senators finished paying homage to the Gods, sunlight streamed in, illuminating the entire chamber.

  In the bright sunlight of the next day, a General entered the chamber and marched to the top of an aisle. The helmet hid his face and the pale, front to back horsehair comb distinguished him from a Senior Tribune or a Battle Commander. Although a white cloak covered his armor, no one doubted it would be silver trimmed in gold. A decorated Legion NCO stood braced by his side.

  “He’s too young to wear that uniform. I prefer my commanders with wrinkles and white in their hair from years of experience,” an old Senator commented. “But his Optio has seen some action.”

  “Consul Claudius Marcellus,” Alerio Sisera called to the dais.

  “The chamber recognizes Senator Sisera.”

  “Consul, I ask that the Senate recognize General Cornelius Scipio, the Prorogatio of Iberia, and the hero of the battle for New Carthage.”

  “Not anymore,” a voice shouted from a back row.

  “Do I have a second?” Marcellus asked, ignoring the outburst.

  After a brief consultation between Quintus Fabius, Marcus Cato, Fulvius Flaccus, and others, a Senator from that side of the chamber offered, “I second the motion.”

  “The Senate of Rome welcomes General Scipio,” the Consul declared. “Come stand before the body, Cornelius Scipio, and be recognized.”

  With an uncustomary flourish, Cornelius snatched the cloak from his shoulders. Giving it a jerk, he snapped it in the air before laying the garment over Sidia’s arm. A gasp rose from the assembly. The ceremonial armor was not silver trimmed in gold, but gold plate trimmed in silver.

  Following the showy uncloaking, in a slow and precise manner, Cornelius removed the helmet and handed it to Sidia.

  “Ostentatious, just like his wife,” a Senator complained. “Someone should bring those Scipio’s down a rung.”

  “Just you wait for Cato to get done with him,” another whispered. “By the end of the presentation, Cornelius will be in Sicilia managing a pig farm.”

  ***

  Cornelius marched down the aisle without acknowledging either friend, foe, or those uncommitted. At the front, he saluted Claudius Marcellus, then half turned, he faced the Senate.

  “Why does he wear the garb of a General of Rome?” a Senator inquired. “Wasn’t he stripped of his Legions?”

  Sisera stood, pointed to the speaker, and stated, “the committee withdrew the Prorogatio title pending a hearing. And they took his authority as a Republic General in Iberia.”

  “That’s right,” Flaccus concerned. “So, wearing a General’s armor is disrespectful as well as unlawful.”

  Cries of undress him or yank the armor off the youth came from different quarters. While the detractors shouted for extreme measures, Alerio Sisera remained standing by his seat. Finally, the rioters and their strong language settled.

  “I see you’re still on your feet, Senator Sisera,” Claudius Marcellus noted. “Do you have more to say?”

  “I do, Consul,” Alerio replied. “While the Governor’s title has been temporarily withdrawn and we’ve ordered him away from his Legions, we have not found a sound reason why one of Rome’s best military minds should be slighted by the removal of his armor. More importantly, if anyone believes Cornelius Scipio is incapable of commanding Legions, they should speak up, before we violate and denigrate General Scipio further.”

  Valerius Flaccus jumped to his feet, raised a fist in the air, and shouted, “we have much to say on the matter. And none is complimentary to the underaged citizen named Cornelius Scipio.”

  Alerio Sisera shifted his focus to the front of the Senate. He expected to find Cornelius seething with rage. But the youthful General simply stood as he had since he marched down the aisle. Even Consul Marcellus noticed the lack of pushback by the general officer.

  “Unless General Scipio has opening remarks,” Marcellus hinted. He paused to allow Cornelius to voice an objection to the proceedings or at least to say something in his defense. Having been the target of dishonest charges himself, Claudius Marcellus wanted to give the accused every chance. But Scipio remained mute. After forcing out a breath in frustration, the Consul invited in the executioners. “The chamber recognizes Senator Flaccus.”

  Valerius Flaccus glanced around as if searching the nearby faces for something. Finally, he briefly stopped on one, before addressing the Senate.

  “All this is unnecessary,” Flaccus announced. “Everything the boy Scipio has done occurred before his twenty-fifth birthday. Not only was he underage to sign contracts or treaties. He had yet to reach the age for a Senator’s position, let alone for a General of Legions. As such, I request a vote to have this hearing sent to a city magistrate for trial.”

  Low and deep, the growl from Alerio Sisera sent shivers through Senators who had served as infantrymen in the Legions. In training, the guttural sound marked the intent of a physical challenge followed by pain. In the Senate, it was taken as no less a sign of danger.

  “I protest the circus juggling act being attempted by Senator Flaccus,” Senator Sisera countered. “We’ve seen too much silver, copper, and gold flow from Iberia to the coffers of Rome to discount General Scipio’s worth. To be clear gentlemen, understand that I will not permit a General of Legions to be tried in the Forum by a civil judge. I will not allow the judgment trap of an ambitious magistrate to abduct what rightly is the Senates to decide. We will not wash our hands of Cornelius Scipio. We will not forsake our responsibility to the Republic. If there is to be a trial, let it be here. Let it be now.”

  The chamber erupted with shouts of agreement. Enough in fact, there was no reason for Consul Marcellus to call for a vote to hand off the trial to a magistrate.

  “We will hear the evidence and vote on the virtues or the vices,” the Consul declared. “And, seeing as General Scipio is participating in spirit only, I call on Senator Flaccus to deliver the accusations.”

  Chapter 20 – Without My Warrant

  Fulvius Flaccus bowed, then instead of speaking, indicated Quintus Fabius. The old Senator, famous for his strategy of following Hannibal but not engaging, nodded at the silent handoff.

  “Because none of the Senators see value in this procedure,” Fabius said in his dignified manner, “I will call on a contemporary of Scipio’s to levy the charges.”

  “Don’t include me in that group, Delayer,” a Senator protested, using the insulting term. After the Legions suffered several catastrophic defeats, Consul/General Quintus Fabius instituted a tactic of following Hannibal and interrupting his supply lines, but not doing battle with the Carthaginian. Some citizens understood and cheered Fabius for his patience. Others thought of the delaying strategy as cowardly. The protesting Senator pointed out. “Cornelius has opened trade routes between Rome and New Carthage and protected them with Republic warships. If anyone deserves a hearing in the Senate, it’s him.”

  “Present company excluded,” Fabius allowed. The venerable statesman waved an arm as if sweeping away the insult and the argument. “I call on a contemporary of the disgraced Legion officer, Cornelius Scipio, to present the case. I ask that Marcus Cato be recognized.”

  “Marcus Cato, you have the floor,” Consul Marcellus instructed.

  From a campstool beside Fabius’ chair, Cato rose and extended his arms.

  “There are many clues to the crime,” he stated. “And I will list them. But let me rush to the end to help you see the path we will travel together. For at the conclusion, surely, you will convict Cornelius Scipio of declaring himself the King of Iberia.”

  At the utterance of the hated title of King, the Senate dissolved into pools of anger and outrage. Since dethroning Tarquin, the last King of Rome, the Senate of the Republic had fought against the very idea of a Monarch. Three hundred years of resistance resounded throughout the chamber.

  Inside, Cato’s heart pounded with joy. He had triggered the Senators and swayed them even before presenting a drop of evidence. Externally, he maintained a grave expression on his face to show the gravity of the situation.

  ***

  When the uproar settled, Cato nodded wisely.

  “I ask you, Senators of Rome, how would a King act? Would he break with tradition? Bestow awards just to gather support?” Cato inquired. “Cornelius Scipio, after the fall of New Carthage, presented two Corona Murali medals. How could two standard bearers plant their Legion’s banners on an enemy’s wall at the same time? Obviously, King Scipio wanted support from his household Legions, the Eagle of Jupiter, and the Lightning Bolt of Jupiter. So, he trounced on tradition and bestowed one on each Legion.”

  In most cases, even men who haven’t been to war would offer opinions after a battle. Especially true were the results of a siege. The proof came as clusters of Senators held two hands in front of their faces. With each, they reenacted climbing ladders then topping a wall. In every case, they agreed that it was unlikely for two standard bearers to scale two ladders during a fight and reach the top of a defensive wall at the same time.

  “Test the theory yourself,” Cato encouraged, although most had already. “In another grab at power, King Scipio assembled eight Legions. A Consul or a Proconsul commands just four Legions each. Yet, in Iberia, Scipio controls eight Legions.”

  “He could invade Rome,” a Senator squealed in fright. “With eight Legions, Cornelius Scipio could finish what Hannibal started.”

  It might have been a damning exclamation. Except, the Senator sat near Flaccus and Fabius. Most of the Senators understood he was part of the prosecution and playing a role in the drama. Even so, a few Senators felt the panic in the back of their necks.

  Cato cupped his forehead with one hand and waved the other, as if cautioning the Senators of a danger.

  “Not only does King Scipio have an enormous royal army he possesses a massive navy,” Cato warned. “With a commercial fleet of sixty-three captured transports plus a total of sixty warships, King Scipio can transport his army anywhere. To Rome to Alexandria, or to Carthage.”

  “If he’s so strong,” an old Senator demanded. “Why hasn’t he invaded Carthage?”

  “An excellent question,” Cato conceded. “Additionally, he furthers his ties with Iberia against Rome, by treating his defeated enemies as if they were snakes, and he a Priest of Asclepius. Almost as if he worships our enemies, he frees them as soon as the battle ends.”

  Tongues clicked at the timid character displayed by releasing an enemy before asking for ransom.

  “Did I say snakes?” Cato questioned. “King Scipio ordered his headquarters to be placed in the Temple of Asclepius. Typically, the temple is a place of healing and snakes. But in New Carthage, it’s a shrine to the God Scipio, King of Iberia.”

  Accusations of blasphemy were leveled at Cornelius by several Senators. For a moment, Cato pondered adding the charge of dishonoring the Gods to Cornelius’ crimes. But he had touched an emotional sore spot with the King line and decided to stay with it.

  ***

  Alerio Sisera and Consul Marcellus turned to Cornelius. As he had done all morning, Scipio watched the critical speech and the reactions dispassionately.

  Waving to his assistant, Alerio called Hektor Nicanor to his side.

  “Find out what Cato is building to,” he instructed. “I know he’s pushing the King scenario. But he’ll need something better than words to bring down a General. And while you’re researching that, see if you can discover why Cornelius is so calm.”

  “Yes, sir,” the assistant acknowledged before dashing up the aisle.

  Two aisles over, he stopped behind Optio Decimia.

  “What is Cornelius waiting for?” Hektor whispered.

  “Sir, I have no idea,” Sidia lied. “The General is a contemplative man. Perhaps he’s praying.”

  “Too busy praying to save his career?” Hektor inquired. “I’ll be back. Think on this. If Cato and his crowd succeed, your General will be a chicken farmer on the Island of Sardinia by Saturnalia.”

  The assistant moved away quickly, and a shiver went through Sidia. If Hektor had waited for another heartbeat, the bodyguard would have told him. But Hektor had left, leaving a bad taste in Sidia’s mouth.

  “I hate farming,” Sidia whined.

  ***

  Hektor Nicanor couldn’t very well walk up to the opposition and ask what they had planned. While that approach was doomed, he did have a deep knowledge of the assistants for the Senators across the aisle from Senator Sisera. And at the moment, they were absent.