“Colum—” Eric’s lips were twitching as he tried to cut the other man off.
“Octavian was named Augustus by the senate. Augustus—Augusti in the plural—was also used for minor gods. It’s of no small note that in the Annals of Ulster, yer man Brian Boru was referred to asAugust iartair tuaiscirt Eorpa uile, which translates to Augustus of the whole of north-west Europe.”
“That’s fascinat?—”
Colum bowled right over Eric. Several people smiled.
“But of course, Augustus comes after Caesar, if we’re speaking chronologically. Octavius, who the senate named Augustus, was Julius Caesar’s grand-nephew.”
Nikolett was now weirdly invested in this information.
“But if you go back to the republic, you had consuls. Two heads of state. Why not three? Well, they did have thetresviriwhich were groups of three commissioned to be getting on with it. There’s an early precedent for the trinity idea there.”
“This is BCE?” Hande asked. That surprised Nikolett; she thought the other admiral would have been wild with impatience.
“Yes, the republic was 509-27 BCE. But it wasn’t just the consuls.” Colum’s mouth was curved up in a smile. He was handsome in that delicious, nerdy way. Maybe if Nikolett hadn’t definitely labeled him as “little brother” in her head, they could have made their marriage work.
Her gaze slid to Eric’s image. To the amused, exasperated expression on his face.
No, her marriage to Colum would have never worked, even if she could get past the pseudo-brother ick factor. Because looking at Eric made her heart race, and sadly, not solely with rage.
“But that’s when you have the dictator.”
“There’s a dictator now?” Hande asked, apparently as invested in this as Nikolett was.
“In times of crisis or war the consuls appointed a Master of the People—a dictator. The dictator ruled for only a year, but his authority was absolute because it existed outside the structure of the senate. Now, of course the most famous dictator is yer man Julius, who declared himselfdictator perpetuo. Dictator in perpetuity, but that’s not what we’re talking about now.”
“What are we talking about? Better yet, why are we?—”
Again, Colum ignored Eric.
“When you think about it, in effect, there were three rulers of Rome—the two consuls, and when needed, the dictator. Also note that Caesar was part of the first triumvirate, and that’s why?—”
A male hand clapped over Colum’s mouth, cutting him off.
Nikolett froze. Colum was being kidnapped, he was?—
Xavier leaned into frame, whispering in Colum’s ear.
Nikolett relaxed. No kidnapping.
“Thank you, Xavier.” Eric looked exasperated, and it made him seem younger. “I hope everyone was paying attention. There will be a test on the politics of Ancient Rome later.”
A small chuckle rippled through the meeting.
After a few pleasantries, Eric sat forward, that familiar focused intention wrapped around him like a cloak.
“Colum, can you summarize?” Eric paused, then rushed to add, “The current situation, not anything about Ancient Rome.”
Colum, no longer with a hand over his mouth, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.
“We’re currently under siege by a man known as the Spaniard. We have a description of the man based on an encounter in Crimea, but cannot independently verify that the man who referred to himself as the Spaniard is the Spaniard. It could be the name of a collective rather than an individual.”
“Let’s assume it’s one guy for simplicity,” Eric said.
Colum nodded before diving back in. “The Spaniard is described as a tall man with a distinct Spanish accent. He spoke Russian, but his fluency is in question.” Colum’s gaze shifted and Nikolett was sure he was looking at her. “He said either ‘say hello to your admiral’ or ‘say hello to the admiral’ to Vadisk, a former security officer in Hungary, during the confrontation in Crimea. Based on subsequent attacks, the most logical assumption is that the Spaniard knew who Vadisk was, knew who his admiral was, and therefore the admiral in question is Admiral Varga.”
Nikolett kept her expression fixed at “mildly interested.”
