The Road To Rome flc-3

by Ben Kane

  A moment later, there was a quiet knock on the door. Fabiola barely heard it.

  Antonius certainly didn't. Holding on to Fabiola's waist, he was driving into her, oblivious.

  The second rap was louder. A low voice joined it. 'Mistress?'

  Fabiola stopped moving. 'Vettius?' she said, astonished at the doorman's gall.

  'Yes, Mistress.'

  Even from the other side of the door, Fabiola could sense his embarrassment. Her annoyance subsided. It had to be serious for the doorman to interrupt her at a time like this. 'Is something wrong?'

  Vettius coughed awkwardly. 'Brutus is coming down the street. He's no more than a hundred paces away.'

  'You're sure?' cried Fabiola, her lustful thoughts vanishing into the ether. Brutus almost never visited the brothel. What did he want?

  'Yes, Mistress,' came the reply. 'I can delay him at the door, but not for long.'

  'Do it,' she hissed, already turning to Antonius. 'Stop!'

  He was too far gone. With his face flushed a deep red, he came inside her.

  Fabiola pulled away and rounded on him. 'Didn't you hear? Brutus will be here in a few moments.'

  Antonius' lip curled. 'What do I care? You're mine, not his. Let the dog in and I'll soon put him right.'

  'No,' Fabiola cried, seeing all her plans turning to dust. 'He won't stand for it.'

  Antonius laughed and pointed at his gladius. 'Will he not?'

  Panic constricted Fabiola's throat. Even naked, Antonius' arrogance knew no bounds. Pulling on her dress, she racked her brains for a way to budge him. 'What would Caesar say to all this?' she finally demanded. 'This is hardly fitting behaviour for his deputy.'

  At once Antonius' expression became surly.

  Fabiola knew she had him. He looked like a boy called to book by his father. 'Do you want to bring disgrace down on Caesar? He's barely returned from Asia Minor, and you're bringing his name into disrepute.' She shoved Antonius' tunic at him, and was relieved when he shrugged it over his shoulders. His licium followed, and then his belt. A few heartbeats later, Fabiola was pushing Antonius out into the reception area. 'Go on,' she said urgently. 'Send a messenger next time.'

  He pulled her in for a last kiss. 'What'll I say if Brutus sees me?' he asked, all innocence now.

  'Tell him you'd been out drinking and heard about the new whores here. You wanted to try one out.'

  He liked that. 'I'll say they're well worth the money!'

  Fabiola smiled. 'Leave,' she pleaded. 'Or my life won't be worth living.'

  'Can't have that now, can we?' Pinching her backside, Antonius bowed and was gone.

  Fabiola took a couple of deep breaths. Calm down, she thought. On the narrow street Brutus could not miss Antonius; naturally, he would engage him in conversation. She had a little time. Darting into her office, Fabiola looked into the small bronze mirror on her desk. Her face was red and sweaty, and her normally immaculate hair had come undone. She looked dishevelled — like someone who had just been having sex. That had to change — fast. Fabiola reached for one of the little clay vessels on the desktop, dabbing some white lead on her cheeks. An expert at applying makeup, she soon changed her appearance to a more sickly one. Leaving her hair down, she wiped away some of the sweat, but not all. She wanted to appear feverish.

  It wasn't long before she heard Vettius talking to Brutus at the front door. True to his word, the huge doorman delayed him as long as possible. Fabiola panicked, suddenly unsure of her ability to deceive her lover yet again. Somehow, though, she had to.

  'Fabiola?'

  Her reflexes took over. 'Brutus?' she said in a weak voice. 'Is that you?'

  'What are you doing in here?' He stood framed in the office doorway. 'Gods, you look terrible. Are you ill?'

  With relief flooding through her, Fabiola nodded. 'I think I've got Docilosa's fever,' she said.

  Moving to Fabiola's side, Brutus lifted her chin. Studying her pale complexion and the bags she had carefully painted under her eyes, he swore. 'Why are you even up?' he demanded in a worried voice. 'You need a surgeon.'

  'I'm all right,' Fabiola protested. 'A day in bed and I'll be back to normal.'

  'Jovina should be looking after the front of the shop,' he muttered.

  'I know,' said Fabiola. 'I'm sorry.'

  His face softened. 'No need to apologise, my love. But you're in no shape to be working.'

  Fabiola sat down on the edge of the desk with a sigh. 'That's better,' she sighed. There would be no rest until she discovered his purpose. 'What brings you to the Lupanar so early in the morning?'

  'I could say the same of Antonius,' Brutus answered with a flash of anger. 'What in the name of Hades did he want here?'

  Careful, thought Fabiola. Remember what you told Antonius to say. 'You know what he's like. He'd been on an all-night drinking session, and came in on impulse. Our advertisements about the new whores must be working.' She smiled broadly.

  Brutus scowled. 'The prick should go somewhere else.'

  'He will,' murmured Fabiola. 'A man like him rarely ploughs the same furrow twice.' The truth of her own words shocked her. Why was she risking everything with such a rake?

  Brutus grimaced. 'True enough.' Then he grinned, becoming the person Fabiola was so fond of. 'I came to see if you would accompany me to Caesar's games this morning, but with you being ill, it's out of the question, obviously.'

  Fabiola's ears pricked up. Even though Romulus was no longer a gladiator, she thought of him every time the arena was mentioned. 'Is there something special on?'

  'This morning, you mean?' Brutus looked pleased with himself. 'Yes. There's a beast appearing that they call the Ethiopian bull. It's half the size of an elephant, but with two horns and an armoured hide. Impossible to kill, apparently. I thought you'd like to see it.'

  Fabiola knew the animal wouldn't just be walking around to be admired. 'Who's fighting it?'

  Brutus shrugged. 'A pair of noxii. Deserters from one of Caesar's legions, I think. No loss, in other words.'

  His casual manner made Fabiola feel nauseous. Who deserved to die like that? 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'But I couldn't.'

  Chapter XI: The Ethiopian Bull

  One hour later… It was only mid-morning, but the amphitheatre was already full. Above Romulus' head, the crowd was shouting with anticipation. All the prisoners knew why too, and fear stalked among them, increasing their unease. As a consequence of the street gossip which had swept into the ludus the previous afternoon, few had slept well. Memor had relished delivering the news himself, watching each man closely for signs of terror. Petronius had stared at the wall, refusing to meet the lanista's gaze, but Romulus had been forced to. Two strapping gladiators had pinioned his arms while another pulled his head around to hear Memor reel off the host of fanged and toothed creatures they might be pitted against. In the face of such cruelty, he had managed to keep his composure — just.

  Apparently Caesar had paid astronomical sums for the most exotic animals available. Some had never been seen in Rome before. Consequently, wildly inaccurate descriptions were rife. Waxing lyrical, Memor mentioned them all. Even the most common beasts to be used were enough to send men witless. Lions, tigers, leopards and bears were all lethal predators. Just as dangerous were elephants and wild bulls. Old memories had been triggered in Romulus' mind at the lanista's gruesome descriptions. He had witnessed a contest between venatores and big cats once before. Not one man had survived the brutal display, and the injuries they sustained before dying had been horrendous. Thankfully he'd concealed his distress from Memor, but his mind was filled all night with the images of the young venator who had endured only to be executed for his anger at the crowd's cruelty towards him. It was crushing to know that even if, by some miracle, he survived, there was virtually no chance of mercy. By dawn, Romulus' eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and fear. What he would have given to have had Brennus or Tarquinius by his side. But they were gone, long gone, and now he faced his own j
ourney to Hades. Petronius' presence helped, but only a little.

  During the march from the ludus, the guards had done nothing to stop their charges from being abused by the crowd. The degradation reminded Romulus of the walk he'd made through the streets of Seleucia before Crassus' execution. This felt even worse, though. Rather than being Parthian, his attackers were of his own nationality, and today he understood all the insults. Covered in spit, rotten fruit and vegetables, he and his companions had finally arrived at Pompey's magnificent complex on the Campus Martius, the plain of Mars. It was a place that Romulus had fought in before, but, hurried to the cells below the audience's seats, he did not get to appreciate its grandeur. With its people's theatre, temple to Venus and chamber for the Senate, it was a monument to extravagance that had cost Pompey an absolute fortune to construct. Despite this, it had won him little popularity with the masses. His opulent house nearby stood empty now, its pattering fountains and graceful statues mocking Pompey's fall from grace.

  At least the general's end in Egypt had been quick, thought Romulus. Infinitely better than what awaited him and the other men in the barred chamber. He tried not to think about what a lion's claws might feel like as they ripped apart his flesh. The pain as a bull gored him to death. Or having his head ripped off by an elephant — that was how he had seen Vahram, the cruel primus pilus of the Forgotten Legion, die. It was impossible now not to imagine these terrible fates. Romulus paced up and down, swallowing the bitter-tasting bile that kept rising from his stomach. His urge to vomit was overwhelming, but he would not let himself. Some prisoners were praying to their gods, while others just sat, staring into space. Petronius was furiously doing press-ups. As if that would help, thought Romulus. He said nothing, though. Each man faced death in his own manner, and it was not for him to laugh at it.

  He and his companions were in an iron-barred cell beneath where the spectators sat. Theirs was just one of a line of similar cages, designed to hold gladiators, venatores and lowly noxii. Along the back of the pens ran a long passageway, with regular corridors down to the arena. Apart from the guards, there was no one else around. The gladiators who would fight later hadn't arrived yet, and the animals were kept in a separate area, which was even more secure. They could tell where it was from the cacophony of roars, snarls and bugling. Promising death in multiple ways, the noises chilled the blood.

  It wasn't long before Memor reappeared, looking smug. Half a dozen guards with spears and bows were with him. Romulus knew where the lanista had been: settling the running order with the master of ceremonies. Deciding all of their fates. Nausea washed over him anew, and his knees wobbled. Locking them was the only way he could stay upright.

  'Steady,' whispered Petronius in his ear. 'Don't give the fucker any satisfaction.'

  Quickly Romulus regained control. He glanced at his friend, nodding his thanks.

  Memor came to a halt outside the cage and beamed in at them. 'Who wants to go first?' he asked. 'Any volunteers?'

  Behind Romulus a man was sick, puking up the paltry breakfast of porridge they'd finally been given at the ludus. The acrid smell filled all of their nostrils, adding to the tension. No one spoke.

  Ignoring Petronius' hisses, Romulus raised his hand. What did it matter which particular animal killed them? He just wanted to get it over with.

  'Not you,' growled the lanista. 'Or your friend.'

  The pair exchanged a glance. He had something else planned for them. It wouldn't be a better way to die either.

  No one else would look at Memor. Growing bored, he stabbed a finger at the three nearest men. 'You, you and you can be the first act of the day. And your adversaries?' He paused, smiling cruelly. 'A pack of starving wolves.'

  Romulus looked at the trio, and wished he hadn't. There was more fear in their faces than he'd ever seen on a battlefield. Perhaps Crassus' terror before he died had matched it, but he wasn't sure.

  The exit into the arena was formed by the end of the corridor between the cages. Two of the guards were already busy lifting a giant locking bar which allowed them to open it. Once this was done, one pulled wide the cage door while his comrades stood by with ready spears.

  'Outside,' Memor ordered. 'Now.'

  One of the prisoners ran to the bars and ripped open his tunic, exposing his chest. 'Kill me now,' he begged. 'For the love of the gods, please!'

  Indifferent, Memor studied his bitten fingernails. 'Get them into the arena,' he snapped. 'Quickly.'

  The bowmen among his guards moved right up to the cage. Notching arrows to their strings, they levelled them at the unfortunate soldiers.

  'They will loose on the count of three. First into your legs, and then your arms. After that, your groin,' said the lanista calmly. 'One.'

  The men looked at each other. A pair of them began to weep like children.

  'Two.'

  With dragging feet, the condemned trio walked out into bright autumn sunlight.

  Memor smiled as his guards closed off the exit.

  Despite themselves, Romulus and Petronius rushed to the front of the cage. So did the three others. Through gaps in the brickwork, it was possible to see the circle of golden sand upon which so much blood was spilled. With a clean layer raked into place, it was empty except for their erstwhile comrades. Who, with their limbs paralysed with fear, stayed close together.

  A loud announcement was made that these were legionaries who had left their comrades to die at Zela. This was met with a chorus of insults from the audience. Pieces of bread and fruit rained down on the deserters' heads, and those in the front rows spat or threw coins. Cowering, the trio moved away from the hurled objects and into the centre of the arena. Gradually the torrent of abuse died down. The master of ceremonies was waiting for this exact moment.

  'Cowards like these deserve no mercy,' he cried in a deep, booming voice. 'What animal could deliver an apt punishment?'

  Speculation from the curious crowd filled the air.

  'The merciless creature which, if given the chance, will slaughter the shepherd's entire flock. Or attack the unwary traveller on a winter's night,' the announcer shouted. 'The mighty wolf!'

  Cheers of excitement greeted this revelation.

  Falling to his knees, one of the men raised his hands to the heavens, which prompted more whistles and catcalls of delight. Nobody was going to help this wretch. His companions shuffled from foot to foot, their gaze fixed on the other side of the arena. Romulus saw at once what was attracting their attention. There were three metal grilles set close together in the enclosure's wall. Already they were opening, pulled upwards by ropes attached to a ring at the top of each. No doubt urged by spiked prods wielded by their out-of-sight handlers, eight lithe animals emerged into the light. Their thick fur was a combination of colours from grey to brown or black, and they stood larger than most dogs. With intelligent faces and pricked upright ears, they were magnificent examples of the wolf, which lived all over Italy.

  Romulus held his breath. He had only rarely glimpsed these creatures before, in the mountains of the countries he'd marched through. Wary of humans under normal circumstances, they lived as far from them as possible. Of course it didn't stop hunters trapping them for events like this, and despite the artificial environment, the wolves would not hold back from killing the three soldiers. Although their heavy coats hid the evidence, they were starving. To make sure of a good spectacle, the beast handlers would have given them no food for many days.

  Sure enough, the predators had only advanced a few steps before their gaze fixed on the arena's occupants. Growling and snarling, they immediately split up, some moving straight at the soldiers, while others went to either side. Then they began to close in, slinking along with their bellies almost touching the sand.

  'I've seen them chasing a deer in the hills near my home,' Petronius muttered. 'It's incredible to watch. They hunt together, like a team.'

  Although filled with horror, Romulus could not drag his eyes away. The man who had fa
llen to his knees was now praying loudly to Mars, and begging for forgiveness. The other two had moved back to back and were shouting threats and waving their arms to keep the wolves at bay. It made little difference, and the audience bayed with amusement and bloodlust at their helplessness. More food and coins were thrown in an attempt to anger the wolves, but few struck their targets.

  It didn't matter, thought Romulus. The crowd were going to get their wish soon enough.

  Sensing his weakness, the predators moved in on the kneeling figure first. Two leapt at the same time, grabbing him by the arm and neck and knocking him to the ground with ease. Savaging the howling soldier's flesh with their powerful jaws, they held him down as their companions swarmed in for a feed. The man struggled and thrashed about, his screams piteous to hear. Thankfully the din did not last for long, but it was enough for the two other legionaries to lose all self-control. Hopeful of a last-chance redemption, one ran to the edge of the enclosure where a prominent noble was sitting. There he begged for his life. It made no difference: his potential saviour completely ignored him, drinking wine from a silver goblet rather than look down. When the soldier tried to climb out of the arena, guards thrust at him menacingly with their long spears. This didn't stop his now crazed efforts to escape, and at length he was stabbed in the chest. Dying, he was thrown back on to the hot sand. Three wolves began feeding on him at once, ripping open his belly to get at his intestines first.

  Meanwhile, the last deserter made for the exit from which he'd been expelled, and began ripping at the bricks with his bare hands. 'Help me,' he shouted, reaching his bloodied fingers through a tiny gap in the wall. 'For pity's sake!' From only an arm's length away, Romulus and Petronius watched in total revulsion as a wolf jumped on to the man's back. Placing its large paws on his shoulders, it sank its teeth into the back of his head. Stumbling backwards with his arms flailing, the soldier was a perfect target for another wolf. It darted in and grabbed hold of his groin, eliciting a cry of agony that made Romulus wince and turn aside.