by Ben Kane
Fabiola bent to pick up Sabina’s dagger.
The priestess’s eyes opened wide.
‘I’m not going to kill you, even though that’s what you would have done to me,’ snapped Fabiola. She didn’t want to anger Orcus again. ‘I’ll even send a messenger to the temple so that you know where Docilosa’s grave is.’
Sabina’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Never come back here. On pain of death,’ Fabiola commanded. Then, to Benignus, ‘Throw her out.’
He obediently manhandled the priestess out of the room. She didn’t fight him.
Still shaken, Fabiola headed straight for the baths. All she wanted to do now was wash off Docilosa’s blood, which had formed a thick crust on her skin. She tried to put Sabina’s words from her mind, but it was impossible. They hung before her mind’s eye, haunting her as she undressed. Not only was poor Docilosa dead, but her own destiny had been revealed – and it was unpleasant. Fabiola cleaned herself mechanically, going through the motions while her mind spun ever faster. By reasoning things through, she eventually managed to calm herself. Who knew if Sabina’s prophecy was accurate? Even if it was, the priestess had said nothing about Fabiola failing to kill Caesar. Which meant that her plan could still come to pass. So be it, Fabiola thought, stiffening her resolve. I can succeed. The possibility of always being unhappy and losing Brutus were as nothing compared to achieving her heart’s desire. Dying young didn’t matter either. Only one thing did.
What would Sabina have said about Romulus if she’d been allowed?
Half of Fabiola wished she’d just let the priestess say her piece and have done.
The other half couldn’t bear to think of it.
Fabiola occupied herself by going to the kitchen. One of the tables had been draped with a sheet so that Docilosa’s blood-soaked corpse wouldn’t lie on bare wood. With Vicana’s help, Fabiola arranged it with the feet pointing towards the front door. Sending all the domestic slaves away apart from Vicana, she stripped Docilosa naked and began to wash the blood from her body. She used the opportunity to grill the British girl about what had gone on: it helped to take her mind off what she was doing.
‘He was angry even when deciding which of us he’d have,’ revealed Vicana. ‘Said he liked my fair skin. Yet he still seemed preoccupied.’
‘Go on,’ Fabiola murmured, rinsing her sponge clean.
‘Once the lanista was undressed, I offered him a massage. He didn’t want that.’ Vicana sighed. ‘So I began stroking his prick to get him hard. Nothing happened.’
Fabiola shrugged. It was common for customers to suffer from stage fright, especially if they’d been drinking.
‘I took him in my mouth, but it was no good,’ Vicana revealed. ‘He seemed completely uninterested. Started muttering to himself.’
That engaged Fabiola’s interest. Any crumb of information was worth knowing. Memor had owned Romulus for several years. ‘Did you hear what he said? Think carefully.’
‘I didn’t understand,’ said Vicana. ‘Something about Caesar and the fortune that an Ethiopian bull would cost to replace. How it wasn’t his fault that it was dead.’
Had the horned beast died before it could appear in the arena? It wasn’t impossible. Fabiola had heard of many wild creatures that died of fright in the cages below the amphitheatre. Why would Memor have cared, though? He had been a lanista, not a bestiarius, she thought, puzzled. It made no sense.
‘I asked him if he was all right.’ Vicana touched her bottom lip, which was swollen and bloody. ‘He shouted that it was my fault and backhanded me across the face.’
‘And you cried out.’
‘I couldn’t help myself,’ sobbed Vicana. ‘Then suddenly he produced a knife. He wanted to cut me while I pleasured him. That’s when I really started screaming.’
Twisted old bastard, thought Fabiola, feeling glad that Memor had never acted in that manner with her. Noticing Vicana’s distress, she patted her on the shoulder. ‘He’s gone now, and you’re unharmed.’
Vicana nodded bravely.
‘Go on,’ said Fabiola. ‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll finish preparing Docilosa myself.’
The red-headed girl did not protest.
When she was alone, Fabiola sat thinking for some time. What had made Memor so angry? Was it really the death of the Ethiopian bull? She could come up with no reasonable explanation. She would have to ask Brutus later. Now, though, she had to make sure that Docilosa looked her best for her journey to the other side.
It was one of the saddest things Fabiola had ever had to do; it brought up old, painful memories. She did not shy away from the task, however. The tears that welled up in her eyes had been too long held back.
Tenderly Fabiola anointed her servant’s body with oil, weeping as she imagined doing the same for her mother. Like so much in a slave’s life, that had been denied to her. Velvinna’s corpse would have been discarded like so much waste, tossed down a disused mine shaft or left out for the vultures. The thought made Fabiola want to hunt down Gemellus in whatever dark hole he currently resided and kill him – slowly. She made a resolution to have the doormen search him out whenever the opportunity arose. Finding him would be difficult, of course. The bankrupt merchant had been forced to sell his house in the Aventine, which meant that he could be anywhere. I must stay focused, thought Fabiola. Caesar is my main quarry now.
Docilosa’s body was still warm. Once the stab wounds had been covered by her best dress, she could have been just sleeping. It was a fanciful pretence, but Fabiola wallowed in it for as long as she could. The proper rituals could not be delayed, however, and eventually she closed Docilosa’s eyes and placed a sestertius in her mouth. Without this coin, Docilosa would have nothing to pay Charon, the ferryman.
Her funeral would take place the following night. No eight days of lying in state for Docilosa, the lowly ex-slave, thought Fabiola. There was no point. Who would come to pay their respects, apart from her and Sabina? Yet she was determined that her servant’s passage to the other side would be conducted in the proper manner. Professional mourners and musicians would be hired, and a decent tomb purchased. It was the least Fabiola could do for the humble woman who had become her only family. The anger she’d felt towards Docilosa earlier was gone now. In its place was a throbbing grief which physically hurt every fibre of her being.
There was a knock on the door. ‘Fabiola?’
She could see by the low level of oil in the nearest lamp that hours must have passed. Business should be done for the night. Would she get no peace? ‘Come.’
Vettius shuffled in, looking nervous.
Fabiola tensed. ‘What is it?’
‘Antonius is here.’
She felt incredibly weary. ‘What time is it?’
‘The water clock makes it sometime during the Gallicinium watch.’
‘Gods, the man is insatiable,’ muttered Fabiola. Sex was the very last thing on her mind right now.
‘Jovina offered him his choice of girl, but he refused. Says he has to see you. To spend the night.’
Claws of terror ripped at Fabiola again. Jovina was still at the reception! She would interpret Antonius’ behaviour in only one way.
Vettius saw her mood. ‘Will I send him away? He’s definitely the worse for wear.’
She was touched by his loyalty. ‘Antonius is the Master of the Horse, Vettius. Drunk or not, he can come in here if he wants to.’
‘Of course, Mistress,’ he muttered. ‘Which room should I take him to?’
‘My office,’ Fabiola replied, pulling herself together. At least there was no bed there. She could make a pretence of talking to him about business. Jovina might buy it before she ordered her to retire. ‘Bring some wine, and then stay outside the door in case I need you.’
He did not enquire further.
A fresh pang of grief struck Fabiola. Laying his hands on Antonius would earn the huge slave a flogging, or even worse, yet both he and Benignus would do it if she as
ked. Fabiola almost wished that the doormen would argue with her sometimes. Their unquestioning devotion provided her with no feedback on her choices of action, whereas Docilosa had never been shy of making her opinions known. Even if Fabiola chose to disregard her servant’s advice, as she had done up till now with Antonius, she had done so with an understanding of the other side of the argument.
Now, though, she was on her own again.
The walk up the corridor felt like several miles. Fabiola paused by the door where Vicana had been entertaining Memor. Benignus was inside, scrubbing the floor clean of blood and tissue. Beside him, the lanista’s body was nothing more than a lumpen shape under a blanket. Sensing her presence, Benignus looked up. ‘Can we get rid of him yet?’
Fabiola hesitated. She wanted no one to see Memor’s corpse being carried out, but who knew how long Antonius would stay? He was stubborn, and persistent. It might be all night, as he’d demanded. If dawn arrived and he was still here, they’d have to keep the body hidden until the next evening. That made up her mind. ‘Antonius has called in. Wait around to see what happens. If more than half an hour goes by and you’ve heard nothing, he’ll be with me for a while. It should be safe enough then.’
Benignus nodded.
Flicking her hands through her hair, Fabiola made for the reception. After all that had gone on, she didn’t look her best. Right now, however, she didn’t care. The sooner she could get rid of Antonius, the better. Then she could get to bed. Even alone, Fabiola doubted that she would get any sleep, but lying down would still be preferable to the charade she was about to perform.
Pausing to ensure that her cleavage wasn’t too prominent, she entered.
Antonius was leaning against one of the walls, tracing his fingers over the depiction of a woman sitting astride a man. Jovina sat at her desk, arms folded in clear disapproval. Her gaze met Fabiola’s, and immediately slipped away.
Fabiola’s heart banged off her ribs. Jovina’s body might be frail and weak, but her mind was as sharp as ever. The bitch already suspected something was up. What would she think of Antonius’ presence at this time of night, except that she and he were lovers? Worse still, who would the old madam tell? Keeping her face neutral, Fabiola raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘He won’t even speak to anyone else,’ Jovina muttered. ‘Insisted I send all the girls away.’
Antonius suddenly noticed her. ‘Fabiola!’ he cried, moving away from the support of the wall. His wavering stance showed that his drinking session had continued since he’d left that morning. ‘Just been looking at a good position,’ he leered. ‘Fancy trying it?’
Jovina could scarcely conceal her interest now.
Fabiola bowed, trying to keep things formal. ‘Marcus Antonius. It’s an honour to have you visit the Lupanar.’
‘I should damn well think so,’ Antonius slurred. Turning around to pick out his favoured sex act, he nearly fell over. ‘Where is it?’ He cursed, and then pointed in triumph. ‘That’s the one I want.’
Fabiola was struggling not to panic. ‘I’m sure one of the girls would love to satisfy you in whatever way you please,’ she purred, taking his arm.
Antonius looked annoyed. ‘What?’ He leaned in closer, covering her in a haze of wine fumes. ‘I want you on top of me, not one of your whores,’ he muttered.
Fabiola shot a look at Jovina, whose face was registering both shock and glee. The emotions vanished at once, but Fabiola had seen them. Her heart sank. Jovina knew, and she couldn’t be trusted to keep the information to herself. Giving in to fate, Fabiola led Antonius to her office. ‘Tell the doormen to get inside, then lock up and go to bed,’ she ordered Jovina. ‘I’ll see Antonius out later.’
‘He’s got no guards with him,’ Jovina muttered, suspicion twisting her face.
‘Do as I say,’ Fabiola shot back, not listening.
The old madam obediently scuttled out from behind her desk. It was then that Vettius arrived bearing a bronze tray with a jug of wine and two glasses. Fabiola cursed silently. As if Jovina needed any more proof that she was involved with the Master of the Horse. This time, the madam had enough presence of mind not to react, but Fabiola’s mind had just been made up.
Jovina had to die. Tonight.
She baulked for an instant at the ruthlessness of it, but then her fear took over. What choice had she? Brutus could not find out about Antonius, under any circumstances. None of the prostitutes would say a word – they were too scared of her – but Jovina was a different kettle of fish. Despite her sale of the brothel, and her illness, not all of her fight was gone. She would try to use the information as leverage. Fabiola knew it. That couldn’t happen.
The doormen wouldn’t turn down another dirty job.
A hand grabbed one of Fabiola’s breasts, dragging her thoughts back to the present.
First Antonius had to leave.
As it turned out, Antonius was incapable of much. Once Fabiola had put a glass of wine in his hand and placed the table between them, he collapsed into a chair and began an incoherent ramble about the latest goings-on in the Senate. Fabiola carefully encouraged him, all the while watching his body language. It wasn’t long before Antonius’ voice died away, and his head fell on his chest. Fabiola didn’t move a muscle. Even when he started to snore, she didn’t stir.
Finally, she judged it safe to move. Opening the door, she found Vettius just outside. Benignus was waiting with him. There was no sign of Jovina or any of the guards. Still she didn’t register that Brutus had arrived without any protection of his own, something no one in his right mind would do at this hour.
‘Safe to move Memor now?’ Vettius asked.
‘Yes. The fool’s asleep.’ She took a deep breath. ‘There’s something else I need you to do.’
They looked at her questioningly.
‘Jovina.’
Vettius’ brow wrinkled. ‘What about her?’
‘She’s got to go.’
At first, neither man understood. Then they saw how serious Fabiola was, and their jaws dropped in unison. ‘Kill her?’ Benignus breathed.
Fabiola nodded.
‘But she’s so old,’ he faltered.
‘Jovina’s a snake in the grass,’ Fabiola hissed. ‘You both know that. She’ll tell Brutus about Antonius.’
They didn’t argue any further. Their mistress knew best, and it wasn’t as if either cared for Jovina in any way. ‘When?’ queried Vettius.
‘Tonight,’ instructed Fabiola. ‘Get rid of Memor first, though. Now.’
They hurried off to do her bidding. Fabiola remained by the door to her office, listening for any signs of Antonius wakening. She was pleased to hear only snores.
Soon the doormen reappeared, carrying the bundled-up blanket between them. Fabiola had already slipped the bolts on the front door and pulled it open. ‘Be quick,’ she urged.
They hurried towards her.
From Fabiola’s office came the distinctive sound of a glass breaking on the floor.
Like murderers caught in the act, Vettius and Benignus froze.
‘Outside,’ whispered Fabiola frantically.
‘Fabiola?’ Antonius’ voice was sleepy but truculent. ‘Where in Hades have you gone?’
The pair of slaves had half made it out of the doorway when Antonius emerged, rubbing his reddened eyes. Pushing Vettius outside, Fabiola flashed her most brilliant smile. ‘You’ve woken up,’ she trilled. ‘I was just going to get a blanket for you.’
Perhaps it was Antonius’ military training, or her guilty manner, but all signs of drunkenness dropped away from him. ‘Vulcan’s prick! Was that a body?’
For once, Fabiola was at a loss for words.
In a heartbeat, Antonius was by her side. Pulling wide the door, he stared at the two doormen who were spotlit by the torches on either side of the entrance. Like most slaves in such a situation, their feet were rooted to the spot. ‘What have you got there?’ Antonius barked.
There was a pregnant pause
.
‘Answer me!’
‘Nothing, sir,’ ventured Benignus. ‘An old blanket.’
Antonius whirled around to Fabiola. ‘Was someone killed here tonight?’
Fabiola struggled not to break down in front of him. Today was proving to be the worst day of her life. Could things get any worse? ‘Yes,’ she muttered.
‘Who?’
‘Nobody. A lowlife who started roughing up one of the girls. He killed my servant as well.’ Fabiola’s grief over Docilosa surged up, out of control. ‘He deserved to die,’ she snarled. ‘Like anyone who crosses me,’ she added in a whisper.
‘What did you say?’
Panicking, Fabiola looked away. ‘Nothing.’
If Antonius had heard her final words, he chose to ignore them for the moment. ‘Whose body is it? Tell me!’
Fabiola quailed at his fierce expression. ‘Memor, the lanista.’
Antonius’ eyes widened. ‘An important man. I see your need for secrecy. So you waited until there was no one about, and then ordered your goons to get rid of the evidence. Clever. Except I saw it.’
Fabiola didn’t answer.
Antonius turned back to the doormen. ‘Go on, piss off.’
They goggled at him.
He raised a fist. ‘Beat it!’
Unable to believe their good luck, the pair hoisted their burden and disappeared into the darkness.
Fabiola exhaled slowly, knowing that the danger wasn’t over yet.
Pushing her before him, Antonius shut the door. The bolts slid home with an ominous sound. Straightening, he looked at Fabiola with new respect. ‘Quite the siren, aren’t you? Who’d have thought it?’ he said softly. ‘Come too close, and you’ll end up shipwrecked. Or dumped in a sewer.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Should I be worried? After all, it’s not as if I’ve never knocked a woman about.’
Fabiola began to feel afraid. Antonius was a big, powerful man. He could kill her with ease, and there was no one about to stop him. She backed away, but he followed and grabbed her by both arms.
‘A word in your ear.’