"Somewhat, sir," Lewrie answered. Though his school days had been a trifle spotty.
"Are you versed in Italia's past?" di Silvano queried. "With us, it has always been the Germans. Teutons against Marius… Goths, then Huns, Lombards and Vandals who conquered the Old Empire, made us broken pottery, so many little feuding kingdoms, unable to resist…"
"Oh, much like the Holy Roman Empire in the Germanies, sir?" Lewrie pointed out quickly. "So fragmented and weak?"
Score one for me, he thought happily, seeing di Silvano almost wince and grit his teeth in a too-wide smile.
"Si," the senator allowed grudgingly. "And like our Empire's last decadent days, we must call once more upon our Goths to rescue us. Summon the barely civilized barbarian legions, accede to whatever they demand of us, to save us. But, signore, do not even you deem what it is they do so far a very slow sort of rescue? How long, I ask you…"
"First of all, Your Excellency," Lewrie interrupted, quite full of himself by then, feeling able to hold the British end up. "Our Mister Gibbon writes that Rome was Christian, hardly decadent, when she fell. Your Gothic legions and generals prevailed because no one Roman cared to soil his hands with combat any longer. The Austrians, I am certain, are quite civilized enough these days. Does their campaign against the French go slowly, it is only because a successful campaign takes time to marshal and amass, Signore di Silvano."
There, that was safe enough, without implying criticism of an ally. General de Vins barely made half-a-mile a day, and that, mostly shuffling without actually advancing. Mostly sitting on his hands and decrying how badly he was outnumbered by the Frogs, he'd heard. Alan was quite grateful, though, to espy Mister Drake conferring with Nelson, pointing in the direction of the senator's diatribe and loud questions. Aid was in the offing, he sighed!
"Besides, Your Excellency," Lewrie went on, basking in the intense regard of Signorina Claudia Mastandrea, who was following their wordplay closely. "One must recall that, do you fear a barbarian invasion into Italy again, the most-recent invaders who are sworn to conquer you and annex you to their new Empire of the Common Man, if I may so style it… were originally Franks. A Germanic tribe who came late to the party. And, like scavengers, took what they could. The leavings of those who preceded them. Franks, and Gauls. Julius Caesar's bane, sir.. • Gauls. I should think any Italian, be he Genoese, Savoian, or Tuscan, Piedmontese, or Neapolitan, would prefer the whole of Italy be left alone, free of tyrannical Franks… and Gauls, signore."
Oh, well shot, look at him squirm, Lewrie exulted!
Senator di Silvano had gone as stern and choleric as a hanged spaniel, his tanned complexion suffused. Yet, of a sudden, he got a sly look. Hurry up, damn you, Lewrie urged Drake and Nelson.
"We do, signore Comandante," di Silvano assured him, turning suave once more. "Almost as much as we wish the north of Italia free of Austrians, hmm? Yet, how may we do this? How may the many states in Italy resist? Or cooperate? As you said, so fragmented and weak."
"Well, perhaps what you need do, signore, is to find yourselves another Marius, another Julius Caesar, to beat back your invaders," he breezed off. "Better to stand up and fight, like Horatio at the Bridge… than cringe and wring your hands. Throw your lot in… temporarily?… with the Coalition."
"They were despots. Dictators, signore Comandante," his host reminded him. "Once in power, they became oppressive tyrants."
"Better the temporary dictator, signore, from the old neighborhood," Lewrie said with a grin, "than the eternal conqueror from France."
"Ah ha!" di Silvano barked of a sudden, hands on his hips, and seeming terribly pleased with himself.
Have I stepped in the horse turds, Lewrie thought; again? He's too damn' pleased for my liking. I must have fallen into a trap he's laid, some subtle debater's ruse, or… When he'd sailed to Naples, he'd been presented to King Ferdinand in his fried-fish shop, told him a tale of British derring-do that had bucked him up, gotten Naples and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies into the Coalition. Well, that'd been arranged sub rosa long before, but he had added the last straw to the camel's load, hadn't he? Perhaps tonight, he could cajole Genoa…?
"I mean… what could a united Italian army not do, were their kings and princes of the same mind, sir?" Lewrie added quickly, with a view to backing off.
"Perhaps, Signore Lewrie… rid ourselves of Germans, at last?" the senator hinted.
"Rid yourselves of a plague of Frogs, first, sir," Lewrie said. "Then, were you of a mind…"
"Even though our days of glory are long gone, signore? You say Cincin-natus at his plough. Yet, our modern-day Cincinnatuses will not leave their fields to defend the soil. They wish to rest." His host almost sneered. "A man of his hands, and of his head. Si, a modern Marius or Caesar is what we need. But where are we to find him?"
"Well, that's pretty much up to you, sir," Lewrie allowed.
"Up to me?" di Silvano replied, turning almost teasing. "Up to me personally, signore?"
"Well, you and your fellow senators, Signore di Silvano." Alan shrugged, reaching for another shrimp on his plate, at long last. With a generous dredge through the kai-t'sap. "I'd expect you'd know your fellow Italians best."
"You surprise me, Signore Lewrie." The senator beamed elatedly. "You really do. I would not think an Englishman…"
"Ah, Your Excellency!" Drake bellowed, finally coming to Alan's rescue through a purposely maddening maze of strollers and wine-bibbers. "Have you and the commander been having a good chat?"
"A most excellent one, Signore Drake," di Silvano assured him with a pleased purr. "Though he gives me no reassurances for the poor people of the Riviera, my fellow Genoese. But that…"
"But that, Marcello," Claudia Mastandrea interjected with a moue of boredom, and a sulky tone, "is best taken up with the good Signore Drake, or his ammiraglio piccolo. Politics, Marcello!" She pouted. "They bore me. And you must argue with Comandante Lewrie… a guest!"
"Our squadron commander, you mean, signorina?" Drake amended.
"Signore Nelson," she said, turning to him with a sly expression. "Si, he is piccolo. A very little ammiraglio."
Lewrie coughed some kai-fsap up his nose as he snorted in appreciation of her wordplay. Piccolo, he thought; have to remember it! Horatio Piccolo, haw haw!
"Scusa, Signore Lewrie," di Silvano offered, reaching across to shake his hand right manly and gentlemanly. "My enthusiasm, my concern… we must speak again. Of Rome and its past glories. Of a new Rome, and its possibilities. Most intriguing."
"I should be delighted, Your Excellency." Lewrie beamed, glad to be free.
"You will allow the Comandante Lewrie to escort me, Marcello?" Signorina Mastandrea cajoled. "He is in need of more wine. As am I."
"But of course, cara mнa, of course," di Silvano said magnanimously. "You will be in the care of a fine English gentleman."
Thankee, Jesus, Alan exulted! No, wait\ Maybe not, there's… well… oh, to hell with it!