by Ben Kane
Their leader was a strongly built brute with black hair. Several bronze and silver phalerae were strapped to his chest over his mail. Stepping closer, he eyed Romulus' long, gaping wound with a critical stare. 'A rhomphaia did that. Caught you unawares, eh?'
Embarrassed, Romulus nodded.
The soldier clapped him on the shoulder. 'But you survived! Killed the bastard who did it too, I expect.'
'I did,' Romulus declared proudly.
'It'll never happen to you again either,' the other confided. 'Good legionaries learn fast, and I can tell you're one of those. Like us.'
The newcomers gave him approving looks, and Romulus' heart swelled with pride. Here were some of Caesar's finest, accepting him as one of their own.
'Been wounded before too, I see,' said the burly legionary. He pointed a thick finger at the purple welt on Romulus' right thigh. 'Who'd you get that from?'
His wits addled, Romulus wasn't thinking straight. 'From a Goth,' he answered truthfully.
He didn't see Petronius' surprised reaction.
The soldier stopped. 'Which legion are you boys in again?'
'The Twenty-Eighth,' replied Petronius warily, sensing danger. He began trying to usher Romulus away.
'Wait.' It was an order, not a request.
Avoiding eye contact, Petronius stopped.
'The Twenty-Eighth never served in Gaul or Germania,' the black-haired legionary growled.
'No.' Romulus knew enough of his new unit's history to answer, although he had no idea where this was going. 'It didn't.'
'So where the fuck did you ever fight a Goth then?' the other demanded angrily.
Romulus stared at him as if he were an imbecile. 'In the ludus.'
The big legionary's face was a picture of shock and outrage. 'What did you say?'
Romulus looked at Petronius, who looked similarly stunned. Finally realising what he'd said, his hand reached down for his gladius. It wasn't there — he was still naked, and his weapon was lying on top of his clothing a few steps away.
'I don't believe this,' snarled the soldier, raising his bloody sword. 'A slave in the Twenty-Eighth? Can't let that go unanswered, can we?'
Shouts of indignation left the men's throats as they swarmed in, seizing Romulus by the arms. He was too weak to resist, and when Petronius tried to intervene, he was clubbed to the ground in a hail of blows and kicks.
The immense danger of the situation began to sink into Romulus' fog of pain.
The black-haired legionary's next words proved it.
'I reckon we should finish off today properly,' he cried. 'Nothing like watching a crucifixion with a skin of wine.'
At this, there was a loud cheer.
Chapter VII: The Affair
The temple of Orcus, Rome Sextus roared in agony as Scaevola pulled free his blade. Still clutching his own weapon, he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Fabiola screamed. Sextus' cloak and tunic were already saturated in blood. More was pooling on the mosaic tiles around him, filling the tiny cracks between each coloured piece. Even if his wound wasn't mortal, Sextus would soon die from this loss. Yet she had to defend herself first. Unsheathing her pugio, Fabiola pointed it towards the fugitivarius. It felt like a child's toy. 'Don't come any closer,' she said, hating her quavering voice.
'What's that, bitch?' Scaevola asked, stepping over the injured Sextus, who could only watch. 'I came here to ask for your life, and look! Orcus has answered my prayer before I've even left the premises.' He grinned, revealing sharp brown teeth. 'A man can't ask for more than that.'
Fabiola did not answer. She didn't have the skill to fight off a powerful man like Scaevola with only a knife. And how could she leave Sextus behind? Feeling terrible, she backed away. If she could reach the entrance hall, there were bound to be people about. Priests, priestesses, or other members of the public. Someone who could help them.
Sensing what she was up to, Scaevola lunged after her, slashing and cutting with his gladius. 'Why don't you run?' he taunted. 'I'll even give you a little head start.'
His leering face made Fabiola shake with uncontrollable fear. No matter where she went, or what she did, the fugitivarius seemed to pop up. It was all she could do to keep moving backwards. Frantic, she glanced over her shoulder. It was at least twenty paces to the large doors which led on to the hall. Too far. Despair overtook her. What had she been thinking? To ask Orcus for help and then immediately insult his priestess had been beyond foolish. This had to be the deity's answer. Right on cue, Scaevola thrust his sword at her midriff. Fabiola threw herself sideways; she escaped being gutted by a fingerbreadth.
I have angered the gods, and now I'm going to die in this dark corridor, she thought dully. Caesar will never pay for what he has done. I'll never see Romulus again. The last thought pained Fabiola most, and her feet came to a standstill. The pugio fell from her nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor.
Scaevola crept closer. 'I'm going to gut you first, and then carry you outside,' he whispered. 'How would you like to be fucked while you're dying, you little whore?'
Fabiola stared at him, her eyes dark pools of misery. She could imagine nothing worse.
The fugitivarius drew back his blade. 'Let's get the first bit over with then.'
'Hold!' shrieked a voice taut with fury. 'What sacrilege is this?'
They both turned to see Sabina standing over Sextus' prone form. Her hands were red with his blood, and her wide face was outraged.
'He did it,' Fabiola stuttered, pointing at Scaevola. 'Attacked us as we walked along the corridor.'
'I've sworn to kill this woman,' snarled the fugitivarius. 'Came here to pray for that. And look — Orcus himself delivered her to me.' Self-righteousness oozed from every word.
'How dare you assume to know what the god does!' screamed Sabina, spittle flying from her lips. 'Only his priests or priestesses may speak for him. For any other to do so is heresy.'
Scaevola swallowed uneasily.
Sabina levelled an accusing finger at him. 'You have already drawn blood inside the temple, which is forbidden. A huge offering will have to be made for Orcus to forgive that, and if this man dies,' she said, indicating Sextus, 'you will be cursed with the most terrible fate imaginable. For all eternity.'
His eyes darted to Fabiola, promising rape and murder anew.
It was all she could do not to lose control of her bladder.
'The same would apply if you murder her,' hissed Sabina, her voice threatening. 'Think carefully.'
Despite himself, Scaevola flinched. Even the murderous were ruled by superstition.
Drawn by Sabina's cries, several priests spilled into the corridor from the main hallway. They gasped in horror at the sight of Scaevola holding a bloody sword over Fabiola.
'Fetch the lictores to arrest this dirtbag,' shouted Sabina. 'He has grievously injured a slave and offered violence to this devotee.'
Casting frightened looks over his shoulder, one darted off at once. The others shuffled about, unsure what to do. As priests, none were armed or trained to fight men like Scaevola.
Nonetheless, his gladius lowered to point at the floor. 'You win once more,' he spat at Fabiola, his face purple with fury. 'But that's the last instance. From now on, best watch your back night and day. We'll have a fine time together before I slit your throat.'
Realising that she was not going to die there and then, some of Fabiola's courage returned. 'Get out,' she answered in a flat tone. 'You vermin.'
Furious, the fugitivarius hawked and spat a gob of phlegm in her face. Then, with his sword raised threateningly, he shouldered his way past the watching priests and out of the door. Awed by his confidence, they did not try to stop him.
Wiping the spit off with her sleeve, Fabiola ran back to Sextus. Sabina was already ripping open his tunic to examine his injury. It was still bleeding profusely, but that was not the worst of it. Fabiola bit her lip to stop herself crying out. Scaevola's gladius had entered Sextus' abdomen from the right, just o
ver his hipbone. Running deep into his belly, the razor-sharp iron would have cut his intestines to ribbons. It was a death wound, and looking at Sextus, Fabiola saw that he knew it too. Her throat closed with sorrow, preventing her from uttering a word. It was her fault that her slave lay here like this. I should have brought some legionaries too, she thought bitterly.
'I'm sorry, Mistress,' Sextus muttered. 'Didn't see him coming.'
'Stop it,' she cried, feeling even worse. 'No one could have anticipated that Scaevola would be here. Rest now. I'll have the best surgeon in Rome sent for.'
Despite his pain, Sextus smiled, breaking her heart. 'Save your money, Mistress. Aesculapius himself would struggle to cure me.' A bout of shivering struck him as shock began to set in. After a moment, he managed to rally himself. 'I have a request to make of you.'
Fabiola hung her head, unable to meet his open, accepting gaze. 'What is it?' she whispered, knowing the answer. He had made it of her during Scaevola's first ambush, a lifetime ago.
'A simple grave will be enough,' he replied. 'Just don't leave my body out on the Esquiline Hill.'
'I swear it,' said Fabiola, leaning down to clasp his hand through her tears. 'There will be a fine memorial over it too. The most faithful slave in Rome deserves no less.'
'Thank you,' Sextus murmured, closing his eyes.
Trying to compose her maelstrom of emotions, Fabiola covered him with her cloak. Her loyal servant was about to die, and Scaevola was still at large. While the threat of the lictores might make him lie low for a few days, the cruel fugitivarius was not going to give up now. She only had to look at Sextus to know that every word of Scaevola's threat was real. Fabiola's skin crawled as her imagination ran away with the thought. With great effort, she forced the horrifying images from her mind. It could have all happened here, in this corridor, yet Orcus had seen fit to send a priestess out to stop it all. She could take some consolation from that. 'I owe you my life,' she said to Sabina. 'I am grateful.'
She received a brittle smile in response. 'What he did was an outrage. I would have done the same for anyone.'
The way she said it made Fabiola feel very small and unwelcome. Why Sabina was like this, she still had no idea. Yet the ice-cool priestess was the least of her worries right now. 'If you could send word to my domus for a litter,' asked Fabiola briskly, 'I can remove my slave from here.'
Sabina gestured at one of the priests, who hurried to her side. 'Tell him where to go,' she said. 'I have to prepare the cursing ceremony for the vile creature who attacked you. What is his name?'
'Scaevola,' Fabiola answered. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she imagined what the young priestess might demand of Orcus. 'Among other things, he's a fugitivarius.'
'I see.' Sabina did not seem surprised. She turned to go, then stopped. 'And my mother? When will she visit?'
'Tomorrow,' reassured Fabiola.
This produced a small, pleased smile. In the event, it was not possible for Docilosa to visit the temple the next day.
Accompanied by twenty legionaries, Fabiola arrived at Brutus' house with the unconscious Sextus carried alongside in her litter. Once she had settled him in a bedroom beside her own and deputised a number of slaves to care for their comrade, she went in search of Docilosa. Fabiola found her in bed, her broad cheeks flushed with fever. Her servant barely recognised her, and Fabiola decided not to mention Sabina. The time would be right when Docilosa was recovered, when she could immediately go to visit her long-lost daughter.
Upon his return, Brutus was shocked and incensed to hear what had happened. Fearing his reaction, Fabiola did not mention that the fugitivarius was responsible for Sextus' injury. Fabiola wanted to unburden her worries about Scaevola, but she worried that Brutus would forbid her from taking over the brothel. Then there would be no chance of continuing with her plans. She'd have to mention the fugitivarius at some point, but also dilute the threat he posed. So she told Brutus that their assailant had been a dangerous lunatic, who had been overpowered by some acolytes. As ever, he believed her story.
Brutus was even more surprised when Fabiola sprang the Lupanar's purchase on him, but in the throes of her expert all-over massage, soon came around. Fabiola's explanation of how the prostitutes could wheedle information from clients, in order to discover those who still sympathised with the Republican cause, pleased him immensely. 'Since Pharsalus, Caesar's taken too many of the boot-licking bastards to his bosom,' Brutus growled. 'I don't trust a single one of them.' Just the type of men I want, thought Fabiola. Naturally, she did not admit a thing. She had planted the seeds of doubt in Brutus' mind already, and would win him around in time.
It was time to mention Scaevola's involvement with the other brothel. Brutus was horrified to hear that the fugitivarius was back on the scene. 'I'll just have a few squads of soldiers take the bastard out and execute him,' he roared. Unsurprisingly, he calmed down when Fabiola told him of Scaevola's involvement with Marcus Antonius. 'Damn it,' he said, rubbing his tired eyes. 'That prick Antonius wouldn't be happy if one of his henchmen was killed by my legionaries. I'm sorry, my love. We'll have to think of another way.'
Fabiola had been expecting that response. It galled her immensely, but a different method to rid herself of Scaevola and his menaces would present itself at some stage. If she could stay alive that long. Fabiola's hunch that Brutus would not want legionaries standing guard outside a whorehouse was correct, but he gave her permission to recruit as many guards as she pleased. 'I don't want you spending too much time at the Lupanar, though. It's safest here,' he said, his brow furrowed. 'Street heavies aren't the same as my trained soldiers.' Fabiola gave her lover a lingering kiss and, lying through her teeth, assured him that she'd do as he said. After a brief visit to Sextus' bedside, Brutus retired, leaving Fabiola to brood over the dying slave by the flickering glow of an oil lamp.
She had dosed him with plenty of papaverum, so he was unconscious most of the time now. His face had taken on the waxy grey colour of those near death, and on the rare occasion that he opened his unfocused eyes, Fabiola did not think Sextus saw much. He was in no pain, so she could do no more. Holding his calloused hand as she had never done in life, Fabiola considered her situation. It felt more dangerous than ever.
To set out on the most perilous of paths without Brutus being fully on board felt downright foolish. He was right about paid guards not being of the same quality or reliability as legionaries. The only dependable men Fabiola had were Benignus and Vettius. With at least a dozen thugs of his own, Scaevola was a lethally dangerous enemy to have. Making the Lupanar impregnable was almost impossible, which meant that her life would be in constant danger there. Fabiola clenched her teeth. Her original refusal to walk away from the purchase of the brothel was not going to change now. Caesar had raped her mother, and tried to do the same to her. How else could she recruit nobles to murder him other than in the Lupanar?
Sextus died during the night, slipping away while Fabiola dozed alongside. When she opened her eyes in the cold light of dawn and saw his unmoving form, she felt enormous guilt at not being awake at the moment of his passing. Yet, she reflected wryly, it was Sextus' manner to die as he had lived: in the most unassuming of ways. Still, Fabiola's heart ached now that he was gone. Since the dark day they had fought side by side for their lives, the one-eyed slave had been a pillar of support to her. In the weeks ahead, Fabiola would sorely miss his skill with a sword. Picturing Scaevola's malevolent face as he attacked them in the temple, fresh fear filled her. Had buying the Lupanar been a good idea?
Then Fabiola looked down at Sextus' body.
To walk away now might mean she was safe — but the victory would be Scaevola's. Furthermore, her loyal slave's death would mean nothing. 'I will avenge you, Sextus,' she whispered. 'At any cost.' Once burial arrangements had been put in train for Sextus, Fabiola set about completing her purchase of the Lupanar. Accompanied by a squad of legionaries, she first made a quick journey to the basilicae, the covered marke
ts in the Forum. Among the moneylenders, scribes and soothsayers there, she found a portly lawyer recommended by Brutus. Fabiola was delighted to hear from him that the bill of sale penned by Jovina was legally binding. After a greasy-haired scribe had penned two notarised copies — one for each of them — Fabiola deposited the original in a nearby bank.
In these plush premises, replete with fountains, Greek statues and urns, she also presented the parchment which Brutus had gifted her. It granted up to 175,000 denarii in credit. The teller's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he read the amount. This fortune, to a woman? Of course, he dared say nothing, instead checking with a superior that Brutus' seal was genuine before silently composing the document which the confident young beauty demanded.
When it was finished, Fabiola scanned the close-written text herself. It was made out to Jovina for seventy-five thousand denarii — half the money she'd agreed to pay the old hag. Even this was an absolute fortune, a sum which only a few years ago she would not have been able to comprehend. Yet it was only part of the money which Brutus had freely given her. He'd offered even more, but, keen to show him that she was not greedy, Fabiola had refused. There was plenty here for her to buy the services of gladiators, street toughs, members of the collegia — whoever Benignus and Vettius could round up to defend the Lupanar.
'I need cash as well,' she said to the clerk.
'How much, madam?' he asked.
'Twenty thousand denarii should do it,' Fabiola replied, thinking trips here were probably best left to a minimum. The sturdy legionaries outside wouldn't always be present, and it was a long journey back to the Lupanar. She might not be able to make it too often. 'Give me half of it in sestertii.'
The teller blinked. In this respectable establishment, it was more usual for customers to use credit notes like the one he'd just written. 'If madam doesn't mind waiting,' he said. 'It will take a few moments to count out such a large amount.'
'I'll be back for it in an hour,' Fabiola answered. Being so close to Jupiter's temple on the Capitoline Hill, a quick visit was called for. She needed help more than ever, and Rome's greatest god had helped her on many occasions before. So too had Mithras. After her bad fortune with Orcus, perhaps she could renew her loyalties to these two deities.