by Ben Kane
Longinus was too plain a man to conceal his surprise. 'He's right, sir.'
'Keep asking.'
Obediently, the officer interrogated Romulus about Crassus' whole campaign. All his answers were correct, and at last Longinus gave in. 'He must have been there, sir,' he admitted. 'Or else he's been talking to every survivor who made it home.'
'I see.' There was a long silence as Caesar considered his options.
Romulus looked out at the battered shape that was Petronius' body. He'd probably be joining him very soon. So be it, he thought. I don't care any longer. I have done my best.
'I have seen many things as a general and a leader of men.' Caesar's voice was pitched to carry around the whole amphitheatre. 'Never have I seen such bravery as these two noxii showed today, though. Unarmed and condemned to die, one was resourceful enough to steal a spear from a half-asleep guard. Disregarding his own safety, he tried to wound the rhinoceros in order to save his friend.' Caesar looked around at the audience, which was hanging on his every word.
Romulus was stunned. Maybe I'm dreaming, or already dead, he thought.
'The noxius failed, but then his comrade bought him some time with his own life. Even though the survivor was then armed with a spear, I thought that the beast would kill him. But it didn't! Against all the odds, he slew a creature which had walked out of legend. Furthermore, he turned his back on me — the editor. Why? To honour his friend,' Caesar shouted. 'I say to you that this man is a true son of Rome. He may have been born a slave, and committed crimes. Today, however, I name him a citizen of the Republic.'
Romulus' mouth fell open. Instead of death, he was being offered life. Freedom.
Memor looked appalled, outraged even, but he kept his mouth shut.
To tumultuous applause, Caesar turned to Romulus and offered him his right hand. 'What is your name?'
'Romulus, sir,' he replied, firmly taking the grip.
'If all my soldiers were as brave as you, I'd only ever need one legion,' joked Caesar.
Romulus was overcome by gratitude. 'I offer you my service, Caesar,' he said, dropping to one knee.
It was Caesar's turn to look surprised. 'You wish to be part of my army? Soon we will be shipping out for Africa, where much bloodshed awaits us.'
'I can think of no greater honour, sir.'
'A soldier like you will be welcome,' replied Caesar in a pleased tone. 'Which legion would you join?'
Romulus grinned. 'The Twenty-Eighth!'
'A good choice,' smiled Caesar. 'Very well. You shall have your wish.' He beckoned to one of his officers. 'Have this man — Romulus — taken to your camp and fitted out with an ordinary legionary's kit. He can bunk in with your soldiers until next week, when I send new orders to the Twenty-Eighth. Then he is to accompany them to his old unit. Clear?'
'Sir!'
Caesar turned away.
The officer jerked his head at Romulus. It was clear that the interview was over. Romulus struggled to overcome his intimidation and awe. I made a promise, he thought. 'Sir?'
Caesar looked around. 'What is it?'
'Petronius — my comrade — served in the Twenty-Eighth,' began Romulus.
'So?'
'He was a good soldier, sir. I promised him that he would receive a decent funeral, with all the proper rites.'
Caesar was taken aback. 'Determined, aren't you?'
'He was my friend, sir,' replied Romulus stolidly.
The surrounding officers and senators looked outraged by his audacity.
Caesar stared at Romulus long and hard. 'Good enough,' he said at length. 'I'd do the same myself.' He glanced at the centurion in charge of his guards. 'See that it's done.'
Romulus saluted. 'Thank you, sir.'
'Until we meet again,' answered Caesar.
This time, Romulus felt his elbow being taken. His audience was over.
'Lanista!' Caesar's voice was frosty. 'A word, if you please.'
Romulus didn't get to hear what the general had to say to Memor. Alternately sad and ecstatic at what had happened, he was led off by a lean soldier with a bad limp. 'Caesar likes you,' this man whispered as they left the amphitheatre. 'But don't go thinking you're something special now. You're not — you're just a plain legionary, like me. Never again speak to an officer unless he addresses you first. Unless you want a good flogging, of course.'
Romulus nodded. No longer having to conceal his identity was worth any harsh discipline.
'Don't expect any special treatment from your comrades either. They won't give a shit about what you did here today,' the soldier went on. 'All they'll care about is how you fight against the fucking Republicans in Africa.'
Romulus caught the nervousness in the other's voice. 'How bad is it over there?'
There was a resigned shrug. 'The usual when fighting for Caesar. By all accounts, we'll be outnumbered two or three to one. The bastards also have vast numbers of Numidian cavalry, while we have next to none.'
Resigned, Romulus eyed the temple of Jupiter which loomed over the city. He couldn't visit it just yet. Nor would he get to see Fabiola. Instead, more danger beckoned.
In Africa.
Chapter XIII: Strands of Fate
Fussing like an old woman, Brutus put Fabiola to bed. Aided by Docilosa, he fetched warm blankets, watered-down wine and an assortment of herbal remedies. Guilt filled Fabiola. Unlike her 'fever', his solicitousness was natural and unfeigned. She had to continue with her charade, though, at least until that evening. Lying back, Fabiola closed her eyes and tried to put the image of unarmed men being killed by a horned, armoured beast from her mind. It was difficult, but the alternative — staring at Brutus' worried features — was little better.
Jovina had stepped in to run things from the reception area while Docilosa hovered in the background, her face a neutral mask. Fabiola knew well that this was only for Brutus' benefit. There were telltale signs that she could read: her servant's flaring nostrils, and the way she slapped down the glass of wine on the bedside table. As soon as he'd left, Docilosa would vent her spleen. It was unsurprising, thought Fabiola. Her coupling with Antonius had been an uncharacteristic moment of madness, which could have left her out on the street. Despite the calamitous outcome that had been so narrowly avoided, Fabiola still felt a surreptitious pleasure at what she'd done. They hadn't been caught, and that's all there was to it. She was her own mistress, and would carry on her own affairs as she chose. Docilosa wasn't going to tell her what to do. Who did her servant think she was anyway?
Part of Fabiola knew that she was overreacting, but Docilosa's self-righteousness wound her up so much that she felt it impossible to let go. There would be no unburdening of her worries and guilt today, she realised. Best to get a good rest — she could always do with more sleep — and settle things with Docilosa tomorrow. Slowing her breathing down, she pretended to doze off. Satisfied by this, Brutus issued a string of orders to Docilosa and left. He was still keen to see the Ethiopian bull.
With a disapproving sigh, Docilosa sat down on a stool by the bed. She made a few attempts to talk, whispering questions at Fabiola. Still annoyed and set on her decision, Fabiola studiously ignored her. Eventually Docilosa gave up. It wasn't long before Fabiola actually surrendered to sleep. Running the Lupanar was draining work.
Despite the sleeping draughts which Brutus had made her drink, Fabiola's nap was far from restful. Instead, she was plunged into a dark nightmare in which Antonius knew all about her secret plan. Dragging her before Caesar, he laughed as his master raped Fabiola. Brutus was nowhere to be seen. Tossing and turning, Fabiola could not stop the horrifying dream. When Caesar was finished, she was turned over to Scaevola. That was too much. Fabiola woke up in a cold sweat, both of her fists clenched in the blanket. The room was silent. Was she alone? Her eyes darted wildly to the stool where Docilosa had been sitting. In her place perched an unhappy-looking Vettius.
Seeing her distress, he jumped up. 'Should I fetch a surgeon, Mistress?'
>
'What?' she cried, startled. 'No, I'm feeling better.' Physically she might be, but Fabiola's mind was full of horrors. Damping them down as best she could, she sat up. 'Where's Docilosa?'
His gaze flickered away. 'Gone to see her daughter.'
'When?'
'About three hours ago.'
'She left me?' cried Fabiola in disbelief. 'When I was ill?'
'She said that your fever had broken,' Vettius muttered as if it were his fault. 'Was she wrong?'
Fabiola considered what to say for a moment. There was no point making this bigger than it was already. 'No,' she sighed, throwing off the bedclothes. 'It has gone. Go back to your post.'
Vettius beamed happily. Looking after his sick mistress made him most uneasy. Now that she was recovered, all was well with the world once more. Picking up his club, he bowed and left her.
Watching his massive back disappear down the corridor, Fabiola wished that her outlook on life was so simple. A few dozen steps from the Lupanar, Tarquinius was squatting in much the same position he'd occupied for a time eight years before. The spot brought back mixed memories. Back then, he had been waiting for Rufus Caelius, the malevolent noble who had killed Olenus. Unsurprisingly, every moment of the melee outside the brothel was crystal clear. He tried to block out the recollection of his single knife thrust, which at the time had felt so right. Although the haruspex felt it was destiny that had guided his blade, he was still being tortured by the consequences of his action, and the look in Romulus' eyes when he'd told him. Which was partly why Tarquinius found himself here once more, pretending to be a beggar.
It was strange how life worked in circles, he thought.
Fabricius had been as good as his word, taking Tarquinius down to the little fleet in Rhodes harbour. He'd insisted that his fellow devotee should travel on his own ship, the lead trireme. Tarquinius had accepted with alacrity. It seemed perfect: after Mithras' intervention, a passage back to Italy in relative comfort, with possible access to the ancient documents and artefacts he needed. Soon after their departure, though, the haruspex had discovered that most of the items that he wished to look at were on the other vessels. In a stroke, half his plan came undone. He had hoped on the journey to spend as much time studying as possible. In the event, however, the cargo arrangements were a blessing in disguise. When an autumn storm struck the fleet off the island of Antikythera, it was the ships laden with precious goods which sank, not the one with Fabricius and Tarquinius on board. Not that their trireme escaped unscathed. Braving waves taller than a block of flats, and hours of terrifying thunder and lightning, it finally limped into Brundisium with only the stump of its main mast remaining. At least a dozen members of the crew had been washed overboard.
Unharmed against all the odds, the haruspex chose to interpret his good fortune as most would. A deity — Mithras — was guiding his way. Although Tarquinius no longer knew what his purpose was, here was clear evidence that he had one still. He was grateful for this. Rome was where he needed to be.
Fabricius was also thankful to the warrior god. Nonetheless, he made an offering at the temple to Neptune before they left Brundisium. 'Got to keep them all happy, haven't you?' he muttered. Like the Etruscans, Romans commonly worshipped a number of divine beings, depending on their need. Tarquinius was no different.
Reaching Rome, the centurion had taken him to a large house on the Palatine Hill. 'I can do no less,' he had insisted. 'It's a place to rest your head.' The building turned out to be the headquarters of a group of veterans, all followers of Mithras. There, in the underground Mithraeum, Fabricius introduced Tarquinius to Secundus, the Pater of the temple. Stunned by the presence of a Mithraic shrine in the heart of Rome, the haruspex had been even more astonished to recognise in Secundus the one-armed veteran he'd met outside the Lupanar years before. In contrast, the Pater had seemed unsurprised.
Meeting Fabricius and surviving the storm had substantially restored Tarquinius' faith in the gods. Just when it seemed that the obstacles in his way were too immense to overcome, they were removed. During the journey, he'd continued to see occasional images of Rome under a stormy sky. Clouds the colour of blood told the haruspex that someone's life was in danger, but he had no idea who. The vivid dream about the murder at the Lupanar did not go away either, and so the brothel was Tarquinius' first destination once he'd had a night's rest.
Recognising Fabiola soon after arriving, Tarquinius was surprised to discover that she was the Lupanar's new owner. Why she had bought the brothel, no one knew, but the knowledge gave him somewhere to start. Had she something to do with his nightmare? He'd also discovered that Fabiola was the lover of Decimus Brutus, one of Caesar's right-hand men.
The haruspex didn't go bowling in to introduce himself as a friend of her brother, though. That wasn't his style. Instead Tarquinius sat outside, watching who came and went, gaining an understanding of what was going on. Within a few hours, he knew that all was not well in the Lupanar. The brothel was renowned throughout the city for its prostitutes' abilities, yet scarcely ten customers crossed its freshly painted threshold each day. It also seemed to have a disproportionately large number of armed guards, bullet-headed thugs armed with staves, knives and swords. These patrolled the almost empty street, eyeballing anyone bold enough to glance their way. To avoid their attention, Tarquinius had adopted the mien of a drooling, twitching simpleton. It worked nicely; the heavies gave him a wide berth.
This afforded him the time to consider what he was seeing. In Tarquinius' mind, the guards' strong-arm tactics weren't enough to explain the Lupanar's parlous state. They were there as a response to a threat, and those who wanted sex wouldn't be put off so easily. Important men were still visiting the brothel too — he'd heard passers-by mentioning Marcus Antonius' name as a burly figure had gone in that morning. Antonius' must have been a brief encounter, Tarquinius concluded. Less than a quarter of an hour had elapsed before the grinning Master of the Horse emerged. No one had troubled him either, other than another noble. A pleasant-faced man of average build, he appeared most displeased to see Antonius. Could the danger he saw refer to either of them? Tarquinius wondered. What did it matter, unless it impacted on Fabiola? He felt frustrated and fascinated at the same time. If Romulus' sister was in peril, though, he felt a duty to help.
More was revealed at midday as he hobbled away in search of some food. In the surrounding streets, the haruspex noticed different groups of armed ruffians standing around. Directed by a stocky, brown-haired man in a mail shirt, they formed checkpoints reducing, or preventing, access to the Lupanar. Only the most insistent pedestrians — such as a plain-faced woman in middle age he'd just seen — managed to get past. It wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion that some kind of turf war was going on.
Tarquinius still wasn't sure if he should get involved.
Best to wait and watch instead. Morose, Fabiola was sitting at her desk in the reception area when Docilosa returned. It was near sunset, which meant that her servant had been gone for several hours. By the happy look on her face, the visit had gone well. Seeing Fabiola, her features stiffened.
'You've recovered then?' she asked with a show of concern.
The expert needling made Fabiola's hackles rise. 'Yes,' she snapped. 'No thanks to you.'
Docilosa made a small contemptuous sound and brushed past, into the corridor. 'I'll be out the back, washing clothes,' she said.
Furious, Fabiola bit her tongue rather than respond further. The anteroom a few steps away was full of prostitutes who would be listening to every word. Jovina was lurking about somewhere too. The less said in public, the better. Yet the situation could not continue in this manner. It would have to be resolved one way or another, and soon. Fabiola's nostrils flared. Docilosa's friendship was valuable to her, but not under conditions like these.
Before she could do any more, a trio of wealthy merchants from Hispania rolled in the door. Fabiola stood up to welcome them. Well-oiled, they insisted on recounting
their story. After a hard week of selling their goods, they'd celebrated by going to Caesar's games that day. A drinking session followed that, and now, the Spaniards declared to Fabiola, they wanted the fuck of their lives. No street gangs were going to stop them visiting the Lupanar, which they'd heard of in their home country. 'You've come to the right place, gentlemen,' Fabiola purred, instantly spotting the heavy purses on their belts. Quite the madam now, she called the girls out to be inspected.
The inebriated merchants made their selection quickly and were led off to various bedrooms. Again Fabiola moved towards the corridor, but a pair of wide-eyed figures in working men's tunics were next through the entrance. She wondered why Benignus had let them in until she saw the money clutched in their fists. Ordinary citizens, they had won a small fortune at the day's games by making an outside bet on an ageing retiarius, the underdog in a gladiator duel. As they told Fabiola, it was a gamble which had paid off richly when the favourite, a murmillo from Apulia, slipped on a patch of bloody sand, allowing the fisherman to stab him in the belly with his trident and end the fight at a stroke. Unhappy at the unexpected result, the bookmaker tried to renege on the wager, but the angry crowd had swarmed in around the two friends and forced him to pay up. Now they were here in the Lupanar to spend their winnings.
Caesar's games were certainly helping business, thought Fabiola as she watched the goggle-eyed pair disappear with their choice of girls. Maybe she should have gone to see them for herself?
No. Fabiola's reaction was instant. Her pretence to Brutus that morning had not been entirely selfish. Her gorge rose at the thought of seeing men die for little more than the crowd's pleasure. She would never be able to watch such spectacles without seeing Romulus on the circle of sand. Just imagining her brother made her heart ache. Where was he? How she wished to see him again! Although they'd both grown into adults since their last meeting, Fabiola had no doubt that they would get on famously. Twins, they'd been inseparable as children. What could be different now? Their bond was unbreakable. Feeling happier, Fabiola thought of Docilosa. Shame filled her. Her servant was almost as close as family. It was time to kiss and make up.