The Forgotten Legion tflc-1

by Ben Kane

  Different sections of the crowd shouted their support for each man. Typically, most were backing the fighter who seemed more likely to win.

  The secutor.

  Watching intently, Brutus stayed quiet amidst the clamour. Fabiola held on to his arm, wishing she could stop the barbaric display and save a man's life.

  Weakened by his injury, the retiarius slowed even further and the hunter redoubled his efforts, trying to get in a mortal blow. Tiring himself out, he paused for a moment, confident the other would not attack. The fisherman groaned and blood oozed from between his fingers.

  Silence fell on the arena.

  The audience held its breath as the secutor prepared to end the fight.

  Suddenly the retiarius gasped and looked over his enemy's shoulder. Confused, the hunter's gaze turned away for a single heartbeat.

  It was enough.

  The armoured fighter spun back, eyes widening in horror as the trident drove deep into his throat. Hanging off the sharp tines, he made a loud choking noise and dropped both sword and shield. The fisherman quickly released his weapon and let the dead man fall to the sand. Swaying gently, he received the crowd's approval with glazed eyes before collapsing on top of his opponent.

  Brutus was delighted. 'The oldest trick in the book,' he crowed, poking Fabius in the back.

  The fat noble grimaced at the unexpected turn of events. 'A slave will bring you the money in the morning,' he muttered with poor grace before turning back to his companions.

  Fabiola's eyes were drawn to the retiarius, who was still lying across the dead secutor. No one else even gave him a glance. He was a slave. 'Will he live?' she asked anxiously.

  'Of course,' replied Brutus, patting her arm. 'Only army surgeons are better than those in the gladiator schools. He 'll need dozens of stitches in the muscle and skin, but within two months that fisherman will be back in the arena, good as new.'

  Fabiola smiled, but inside she was boiling with rage. One brave man had just died and another had been badly wounded. For what? The mob's amusement, nothing more. And when he recovered, the survivor would have to endure it all over again. As Romulus must have until he fled after the fight outside the brothel.

  Never let the savages catch you alive, brother, she prayed. There is no mercy in Rome.

  Afterwards, Brutus took her to the house of a political ally on the Palatine hill. Gracchus Maximus, a senator with close links to Caesar, had invited him to a feast.

  On the journey from the Campus Martius, Fabiola brought up the subject of the triumvirate again. Away from other nobles, Brutus seemed more at ease.

  'Since the death of Julia, Pompey's wife, relations have become very strained.' He frowned. 'It was a tragedy.'

  The death of a woman during childbirth was all too common and that of Caesar's only daughter had weakened the strong bond between him and Pompey.

  'The loss of a child is hard to bear,' said Fabiola, thinking of her mother.

  'Because he is not in the city, Caesar needs Pompey to fight his corner here. Fortunately the general still respects their agreement enough to do that. But it won't be for ever.'

  'Surely the revolt in Gaul will keep Caesar completely tied up?' News had reached Rome that the previously localised unrest was spreading. A young chieftain named Vercingetorix was rallying the tribes under one banner.

  'Not for long,' replied Brutus briskly. 'And it keeps his legions battleready while most of Pompey's do nothing but play dice in Greece and Hispania.'

  Fabiola concealed her surprise. She had not known it had come to this already. Men were preparing for civil war.

  The litter came to a halt, ending the conversation.

  Apart from Brutus' villa and Gemellus' domus, Fabiola had not been in any large houses. As befitted an extremely wealthy man, Gracchus Maximus' residence was enormous. A high, plain wall guarded its exterior, the only entrance a pair of wooden doors strengthened with iron studs. One of Brutus' guards rapped on the portal with his sword hilt. The demand was answered immediately and they alighted, leaving their slaves outside. Entering a grand atrium, Brutus and Fabiola were welcomed by the shaven-headed majordomo, who bowed and guided them into the house proper.

  Each room that followed was more magnificent than the last. Gold candelabras held hosts of burning candles, illuminating graceful statues in alcoves along the painted walls. Beautiful mosaics were laid out everywhere, even in the hallways. Fountains in the garden murmured gently through open doors.

  Reaching the palatial banqueting hall, Fabiola's eyes momentarily widened. Its floor consisted of one huge image, decorated in a circular fashion with scenes from Greek mythology. Hundreds of thousands of tiny clay pieces had been laid in intricate patterns to form a richly coloured picture. Surrounded by lesser gods, Zeus occupied the centre of the design. It was a more stunning piece of art than anything Fabiola had ever seen. Perhaps the villa she dreamt of could look like this.

  The room was crowded with nobles mingling, and slaves serving food and drink. Loud conversation filled the air. If the chance presented itself, this would be a good situation to meet potential clients. Great care would have to be taken to avoid Brutus noticing. As the major-domo led them towards Maximus, Fabiola's eye was caught by a large statue on a plinth occupying a prominent position near the entrance.

  Brutus followed her gaze. 'Julius Caesar — my general,' he stated proudly.

  Carved from white marble, the figure was taller than a man. Caesar was regally depicted in a toga, a thick sweep of cloth covering the right arm. The hair was cut short in military style, the jaw shaven. The face blankly watching the guests was long and thin, the nose aquiline.

  'I've never seen a better likeness,' said Brutus with pleasure. 'He could be here in the room.'

  Fabiola was lost for words. Before them was an older version of Romulus, in stone. Since Brutus' casual comment months before, she had spent hours gazing into the mirror, wondering about her half-theory.

  Could Caesar be their father?

  'What is it?'

  'Nothing at all,' laughed Fabiola brightly. 'Please introduce me to Maximus. I want to meet everyone who knows the great man.'

  He took her arm and they threaded their way through the crowd. Fabiola's beauty turned heads every step of the way. Brutus nodded and smiled, exchanging handshakes and cordial words with the nobles and senators they passed. It was at such times that much of Rome's political business was conducted. She could see that Brutus was an adept at it.

  Fabiola's mind was in complete turmoil. Could one of the triumvirate have raped her mother seventeen years before?

  Maximus beckoned when he saw Brutus, who proudly introduced her as his lover. There was no mention of the Lupanar. Although their distinguished-looking host probably knew her background, he inclined his head graciously at Fabiola. She rewarded him with a radiant smile, aware that he had been more respectful to a prostitute than most would be. It was a sign of Brutus' stature.

  Fabiola breathed deeply, returning the bows from passing guests. It was taking considerable self-control to remain calm and she was glad when Brutus began muttering in Maximus' ear. No doubt this was the main reason for the day's outing. Like Pompey, Caesar's men were busy plotting the future of Rome.

  She let the room's noise wash over her.

  Somehow I will find out if Caesar is the one, Fabiola thought. And the gods help him if he is.

  A week later.

  Memor moaned.

  Pompeia had been good at her job, but this new girl was incredible. He had been getting bored with the redhead. When Fabiola had joined them unasked in the baths a few weeks previously, the lanista had been pleased. Presumably it was a gift from Jovina. Occasionally the shrewd madam gave regular customers a treat. It was good business.

  The theory was completely wrong.

  Mad with lust, he shoved upwards, trying to get the teasing mouth to take his jutting penis inside.

  Fabiola looked up carefully. Memor's eyes were closed, h
is wiry body relaxed. She licked the tip of his shaft and a groan emanated from the top of the bed.

  'Don't stop!'

  Obediently she bobbed her head up and down, prolonging the pleasure.

  Memor writhed on the sweat-stained covers, gasping with ecstasy.

  It had taken months of persuasion for Pompeia to give up the best customer she had gained in years. Despite having been in the brothel longer, the redhead had far fewer regulars than Fabiola. Although Pompeia tried hard, it was difficult not to be jealous. Fully aware of this, Fabiola took care of her as if she were family. The borrowed perfume had been replaced a dozen times; jewellery and little gifts of money regularly appeared in her room. Troublesome customers vanished, helped discreetly by the doormen.

  Pompeia agreed to Fabiola's initial requests, asking Memor about young boys sold into the ludus. Frustratingly, the answers were never more than vague. It seemed the lanista did not talk business with prostitutes. But Fabiola became fixated with the idea that he knew something. Leads from other clients since her arrival had all proved fruitless. It seemed Romulus had vanished without trace after the brawl outside the brothel.

  Memor was her only chance. After all, he ran the largest gladiator school in Rome.

  Knowing Pompeia would not have the same personal reasons to obtain information, Fabiola finally asked if she could take on the lanista as a customer. The redhead refused. Friendship in the Lupanar only went so far.

  'He gives good tips.' Pompeia's tone was whingeing. 'What do you need more clients for anyway?'

  'You know why. This means a lot to me.'

  Pompeia pouted, but did not answer.

  She had tried almost everything. 'Will money help?' Fabiola asked desperately.

  There was instant interest. 'How much?'

  She threw caution to the wind. 'Twenty-five thousand sestertii.'

  Pompeia's eyes widened. It was far more than she had imagined, half a lifetime's tips. Fabiola must be even better than she'd thought. 'Memor might know nothing,' she said with a twinge of guilt.

  Fabiola closed her eyes. Jupiter guide me, she thought. It only took a moment. 'He does. I know it.'

  Pompeia flushed. 'If you're sure. '

  Fabiola smiled at the price, which was less than half of her savings. She did not care if finding Romulus used up every last coin she had.

  But the lanista had proved a hard nut to crack. All the usual wiles to make a customer talk had failed miserably. Pompeia had not been exaggerating. Memor was easily irritated and Fabiola quickly learned not to ask too many questions. Coupling with the scarred old man was most unpleasant; something about his casual brutality left her cold. But the new client took to Fabiola with gusto. A month went by with a virtually wordless visit every single week. She began to think that her carefully saved money had been wasted. When Memor had not appeared for a while it had been a relief.

  Then he had returned. Intense preparation for a big fight had left no time for relaxation. As soon as it was over, Memor had returned to his favourite girl.

  It was now or never. She had made his pleasure last longer than ever before. Every time he thrust into her mouth, desperate to come, Fabiola had slowed down the rhythm, teasing him with tongue and fingers. She knew the lanista could not take much more.

  'Master?'

  Memor's eyes opened with a start. 'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing, Master.' She held his penis tightly with one hand, prolonging the moment. 'Ever had a fighter called Romulus in your school?' She took him into her mouth again.

  He gasped. 'Who?'

  'Romulus. My cousin, Master.'

  'Troublesome son of a whore!' Memor pushed her head down.

  Hope flared inside. A short time later, Fabiola paused again.

  'Is he still in the ludus?'

  'Little bastard's long gone,' said Memor, momentarily distracted. 'He helped my best gladiator kill an important noble about two years back.'

  Fabiola's pulse quickened.

  'That Gaul was worth a fortune,' muttered Memor.

  At the time, the comment passed her by.

  She began stroking him up and down gently and the lanista moaned. 'What happened to them, Master?'

  'Rumour was they joined Crassus' army.' He jerked upright and gripped Fabiola's hair. The look on his scarred face was terrifying. 'Unless you know something?'

  Fabiola opened her eyes wide. 'I never liked him, Master. He was a bully.' She bent her head to finish the job and Memor fell back, sighing with satisfaction.

  Hope. There was still hope in Fabiola's heart.

  Chapter XXIII: Ariamnes

  Parthia, summer 53 BC

  Next day came far too soon for the soldiers of Crassus' army. The dawn sky rapidly changed to a clear blue, and the temperature began to soar. It would be another scorching march. Crassus had risen before sunrise, woken by a troubling nightmare about the unhappy episode with the bull's heart. He knew that the story had spread like wildfire through the legions and a distinct feeling of unease had been palpable since among the men. This had been increased by equally fast moving reports that the eagle of the Sixth had reversed as it had left the Euphrates. Even senior officers now seemed to be affected. Only Publius and the Nabataean continued to show confidence in him.

  But driven by his burning urge to become the leading force in Rome and to crush Pompey and Caesar, Crassus remained convinced he would be victorious. The previous day's losses had been minor and a few hundred horse archers were certainly nothing to worry about. After all, had he not conquered Spartacus and his army? The slaves had numbered more than eighty thousand. Today, all his veteran legions had to face were a few thousand savages. Crassus laughed out loud. In a few short weeks Seleucia would fall, proving his vision. His leadership.

  Desiring more details of Parthia's wealth — soon to be his wealth — Crassus had summoned Ariamnes to his side. The chieftain found him eating dates on a couch under gently moving palm leaves fanned by slaves.

  The Nabataean bowed deeply. 'Your Excellency wished to see me?'

  'Repeat what you said about Seleucia's riches.' Crassus was never bored by the story.

  Again Ariamnes bowed low. 'Most is found in the palaces of King Orodes, the wealthiest man in Parthia. Many chambers have walls covered with beaten silver or huge silk banners. The fountains are filled with precious stones and there are countless gold statues with opals and rubies for eyes.' He paused for effect. 'The treasure store alone is said to fill a dozen rooms.'

  Crassus smiled. 'Rome will never forget the triumphal parade from this campaign!'

  Ariamnes was about to reply when the pair saw Longinus approaching. The legate was followed closely by a swarthy figure in leather armour. A curved sword hung from the man's belt and a small round shield from one arm. The fine layer of dust covering him from head to toe could not conceal the grey sheen of exhaustion on his skin.

  Obviously agitated, Longinus came to a halt and saluted.

  Crassus curled his lip with distaste, Ariamnes swiftly copying the gesture.

  'One of our patrols has just brought him in, sir. A messenger from Artavasdes,' said Longinus, looking daggers at the Nabataean. 'He 's ridden day and night to reach us.'

  Crassus frowned. 'Not an impostor then?'

  'He carries a document stamped with the royal seal.'

  'What does the Armenian want now?' snapped Crassus.

  'The king has been attacked by a large Parthian force north of here. Even if Artavasdes wished to join us now, he could not.'

  Ariamnes' eyes darted to Crassus.

  'Continue.' The general's voice was ice cold.

  'Artavasdes calls on us for aid.' Wary of continuing, Longinus paused.

  'There is more?'

  'He still wants us to march on Parthia through Armenia, sir.'

  'That dog wants me to retreat? And help him?' roared Crassus. 'When Seleucia's riches lie at my feet?'

  'It's a safer route, sir,' tried the legate, but it was obvious his comm
ander had no intention of helping the client king.

  Crassus' face darkened.

  'May I offer my humble opinion?' interjected Ariamnes smoothly.

  Bodies stiff with tension, both men turned to him.

  'Excellency, Orodes must have assumed that you would march through the mountains. He has sent his army north, but they have encountered Artavasdes instead.'

  'That would explain the small numbers of Parthians yesterday,' beamed Crassus.

  'A delaying tactic and nothing more,' Ariamnes continued. 'And all that stands between us and the capital.'

  Longinus was unconvinced. 'What proof have you?'

  'Patience, Legate,' Crassus said calmly. 'Let him speak.'

  The Nabataean threw a sidelong glance at Longinus. 'Yesterday my scouts outflanked the horse archers and reconnoitred for miles to the southeast. There was no evidence of more Parthian forces. Orodes must have taken his men north.'

  'Why did you not tell us before?' said Longinus acidly. 'This smells of treachery.'

  Ariamnes looked hurt. 'But I am myself offering to lead another search.'

  Crassus nodded approvingly.

  The Nabataean noticed Longinus' fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword.

  'We will return at the slightest sign of enemy activity. But I suspect the route to Seleucia is already clear.' Ariamnes pointedly ignored the legate. 'Would that please Your Excellency?'

  A huge smile spread across Crassus' face. 'And the scouts found no signs of the Parthians?'

  'None at all, Excellency.'

  Longinus was unable to contain himself. 'Do not trust this snake, sir! I know it's a trap. Why not return to the Euphrates and join Artavasdes? With over ten thousand cavalry, we would smash any opposition.'

  'Silence!' screamed Crassus. 'Are you in league with that damned Armenian?'

  'Of course not,' muttered Longinus, stunned by Crassus' monumental arrogance.

  'Then shut your mouth. Unless you want to end your career in the ranks.'