by Ben Kane
The familiar thump of the postern gate shutting was therefore most unwelcome. This late, it could only be Brutus returning. Quickly Fabiola rolled on to her side and faced the wall, slowing her respirations to a convincingly slow rate. Some time went by before Brutus appeared, leading her to suppose that he might have work to finish. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend several hours poring over documents in his office. Good, she thought. He'll be too tired to talk.
The instant she heard him fumble with the door latch, Fabiola knew that her presumption was incorrect. A loud curse was followed by a belch, confirming her suspicions. Brutus had been drinking. That in itself was unusual, for he was a temperate man. Panic flooded Fabiola's every pore, forcing a cold sweat on to her forehead. She barely had time to wipe it away and resume her position before Brutus entered the room. Jupiter and Mithras above, she prayed silently. Just let him fall on the bed and pass out. Please.
She had no such luck. There was a prolonged pause during which Fabiola heard Brutus breathing heavily and muttering to himself. Then he came around to her side to see if she was awake. Fabiola kept her eyes firmly shut, and after a few heart-stopping moments, he weaved away again. Next he sat down on the bed with a groan. Making no attempt to remove his caligae and his clothes, he remained in the same position for an age. Fabiola dared do nothing other than continue her pretence of being dead to the world. Soon she judged that nearly a quarter of an hour had passed. He must have fallen asleep, she thought.
'Fabiola?'
Somehow Fabiola managed not to react. What's he been doing, she wondered in alarm. Sitting there watching me?
'Fabiola.' His voice was louder this time.
Let him want sex, Jupiter, Fabiola pleaded. I beg you.
He leaned over and grabbed her shoulder. 'Wake up.'
'Huh?' she mumbled. 'Brutus?' She rolled over and looked up at him in the sleepy kittenish manner she knew he loved. He didn't return her smile, and Fabiola's heart sank. She didn't give up, though. 'Come here,' she murmured, reaching out both her arms.
He pulled away. 'Why did you do it?'
It was possible that Brutus was talking of something else, Fabiola told herself. 'What, my love?' she asked, putting all her effort into sounding confused.
He scowled with fury. 'Don't play it coy with me.'
Shame filled Fabiola and she looked down, afraid to say a word.
'I could live with the infidelity,' he spat. 'You're only human after all, and I haven't been around much. But with that fucking creature? I can't abide Antonius. You know that.'
Although Fabiola's eyes had filled with tears, she dragged her gaze up to his. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
'So it's true?'
She nodded miserably. 'I didn't mean to hurt you, though.'
'Really?' His lip curled. 'Imagine how I felt when he boasted of your exploits together to my face then. In front of a dozen others!' His wine-flushed face twisted with embarrassment and pain. 'I've ignored the street gossip as malicious rumour until now, but there's not much to say when the Master of the Horse reveals in public that he's cuckolding you.'
Finally a sob escaped Fabiola's lips. 'I'm so sorry, Brutus,' she cried. 'Please forgive me.'
He gave her a contemptuous look. 'So you can do it again the instant my back is turned?'
'Of course not,' she protested. 'I wouldn't do that.'
His response was instant. 'Once a whore, always a whore.'
Fabiola flushed and hung her head. Inside, she cursed her reckless behaviour with Antonius. All her plans for the future were about to be washed away. Without Brutus' backing, she was a complete nobody. If he wanted, he could easily wrest the ownership of the Lupanar from her, and reclaim what was left of his money.
Brutus read her fear and scorn filled his eyes. 'You can keep the damn brothel. The cash too. I don't want it.'
Fabiola gave him a grateful look. 'I'll gather my things. Leave at dawn,' she said.
'Fine. Do not return. I don't ever want to see you again.' Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Brutus lurched from the room. He didn't look back.
In the depths of despair, Fabiola sank down on to the bed.
What had she done? Thankfully the information given Tarquinius about Caecilius, the owner of the latifundium, was correct. Posing as a merchant who'd grown up in the area, he was welcomed into the villa's warm kitchen by the friendly major-domo, also a veteran. Over a plate of food and a cup of acetum, the haruspex was able to confirm that his father and mother were both dead — Sergius before Caecilius had even bought the place, and Fulvia two years later.
'Relations of yours?' asked the major-domo.
Tarquinius made an indifferent gesture. 'An aunt and uncle.'
Draining his beaker, the other wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Fulvia wasn't up to much by the end. Poor old creature. Some would throw such a person out on their ear, but Caecilius isn't like that. "She's worked here for long enough," he said. "It's not as if she eats much either."'
'He has my thanks,' said Tarquinius, genuinely touched. 'I would like to pay my respects.'
'He should be back by this evening,' said the major-domo. 'You can tell him over dinner.'
'Excellent,' Tarquinius smiled. 'Does anyone know where my relations are buried?' he asked casually. 'It would be good to visit their graves.'
The major-domo thought for a moment. 'The vilicus would be the best one to ask,' he said. 'He's been here the best part of thirty years.'
Tarquinius hid his surprise.
'Dexter's his name,' said the other. 'Another ex-soldier. Half the man he was, according to most, but still able to keep the slaves in line. You'll find him in the yard or the fields around the house.'
Murmuring his thanks, the haruspex went in search of Dexter: the man who'd warned him about Caelius' plans for Olenus. He found the vilicus hobbling up and down the edge of a large field, shouting orders at the slaves who were picking weeds from the hand-high winter wheat. He was still an imposing figure. The injuries that he'd picked up in the legions were slowing him down, but his back was straight and his eyes were bright.
Tarquinius could tell that he was being sized up from the instant he had come into view. He didn't care. His only crime in vanishing had been to break the terms of his indentured labour. Scarcely something to be concerned about half a lifetime later. 'Greetings,' he said. 'The major-domo said I'd find you out here.'
Dexter grunted irritably. 'You a friend of his?'
'No,' the haruspex replied. 'I grew up in the area.'
The vilicus stared at him, frowning.
Tarquinius waited, interested to see if Dexter would recognise him.
'I can't place you,' he admitted. 'You're about the same age as me though.'
'Younger,' the haruspex corrected. His greying hair and scars always made people think he was older than he was. 'Tarquinius is my name.'
Finally a look of recognition crossed Dexter's face. 'Mars above,' he breathed. 'I never thought to see you again. Owe me some fresh meat, don't you?'
Tarquinius had to smile at that. 'You have a good memory.'
'Some things are still working,' the vilicus answered with a scowl. He eyed the slaves for a moment, checking their work was satisfactory. 'Why did you run and leave the old man after I warned you?'
Tarquinius sighed. 'He wouldn't have it any other way.'
Dexter looked unsurprised. 'I didn't have you down as a coward.' His expression turned crafty. 'What did you do with his valuables?'
Tarquinius had prepared himself for this exact question and kept his face blank. As Caelius' strongman, the vilicus had often been party to his plans. The whole point of selling Olenus out had been to steal the sword of Tarquin, the last Etruscan king of Rome, and the bronze liver, a model for soothsayers to learn their art. 'Was Crassus unhappy?' he asked by way of answer. 'Turns out he could have done with their help.'
'Damn your eyes,' Dexter snarled. 'What happened to them?'
'They were already
missing when I got up there,' Tarquinius said regretfully. 'Olenus wouldn't tell me where.'
They stared at each other without speaking.
It was the vilicus who looked away first, perturbed by the dark, bottomless pits that were Tarquinius' eyes. 'It's of no matter now,' he muttered uneasily. 'Both Caelius and Crassus are long gone.'
'They are,' the haruspex replied. 'To whatever place they deserve.'
They exchanged another long look.
Dexter broke the silence. 'What brings you back?'
'I'd like to visit my parents' graves. The major-domo told me to ask you where they were.'
Dexter gave an awkward cough. 'Workers only get a wooden marker. This long after, there's usually nothing left.'
'Nonetheless, I thought you might remember where they were buried,' said Tarquinius, his voice turning silky.
'Perhaps.'
Tarquinius stood aside, leaving the track back to the villa and the graveyard beyond open.
Unsettled, Dexter barked an order at the slaves and then led the way up the hill. Reaching the rough quadrangle that served as the burial ground for slaves and indentured workers, Tarquinius was pleasantly surprised when the vilicus led him straight to a spot which looked up towards Falerii. It wouldn't have been a deliberate choice on the part of those charged with digging the graves, but it pleased him all the same.
'Here.' Dexter pointed with the toe of one of his worn out caligae. 'They were buried in the same hole.'
It would have been done to save space, but Tarquinius was still gratified by what felt like a small gesture on the part of the gods. Looking down at the unmarked sod, he remembered his mother and father as they had been in his youth on the family farm. Smiling, vital and proud. It was how they would want to live on in his memory. Sadness filled him as he thought of the manner of their parting, and that he had never seen them living again. Closing his eyes, he let their images fill his mind for long moments.
Dexter shifted from foot to foot, unhappy but no longer sure what to say.
Doubtless he would feel the same grief when he climbed up to the cave and visited Olenus' burial place, thought Tarquinius. What had it all been for? he wondered wearily. After all his wanderings, he was still the last haruspex. He'd discovered little about the Etruscans. Some of the knowledge Olenus had drummed into him had been passed on to Romulus, but if the gods didn't clear the way for them to meet again and be reconciled, it would all have been for nothing.
No, not for nothing, Tarquinius thought, dragging together the shreds of his belief. Tinia and Mithras know best, and their will is divine. It is not for me to question them, and they have not forgotten me. I am needed in Rome. Why else would I have been drawn back to the Lupanar? Fabiola appears to be safe, but the unspecified danger and the storm over the city must signify something. With luck, I will be granted a sign at the cave.
Keeping this to the front of his mind, the haruspex looked up the mountain slope. If he hurried, there was time to visit it and return safely before dark. Then, after dinner with Caecilius, he could creep out to check that the sword and liver were still undisturbed in the olive grove where he'd buried them.
It was as if Dexter had read his mind. 'You know damn well where the artefacts are,' he suddenly growled.
Tarquinius' fingers caressed the hilt of his gladius. 'Even if I did, who would you tell?'
They eyed each other in silence. Dexter had been the scourge of every slave on the estate for decades, and had beaten men to death on many occasions. The last time he'd seen Tarquinius, he would easily have done the same. Now, there was an air of deadly confidence about the long-haired Etruscan. It was more than that, though, thought the vilicus. There was something in the other's eyes which put the fear of Hades into him. It was as if Tarquinius was looking into his soul, and passing judgement on it.
Suddenly Dexter felt old and beaten. 'Nobody at all,' he whispered.
With a brief smile of satisfaction, the haruspex brushed past.
It was time to honour Olenus and, for the thousandth time, to ask for guidance.
Chapter XVIII: Father and Son
'Romulus!'
He turned his head, searching for Sabinus' voice. Incredibly, his comrade was on the back of a horse beyond the nearest Numidians. How Sabinus had got there, Romulus had no idea, but he'd never been more pleased. Slashing at another rider, he managed to barge around one mount and then another. Sabinus' last spear took down a further warrior, creating terror in the enemy ranks. There were so many angry Numidians trying to get at Romulus that all was chaos, but within four or five heartbeats, he was by Sabinus' side. Spurred on by pure adrenalin, he took the legionary's outstretched arm and leapt up behind him.
Urging the horse on with his knees, Sabinus directed it around the side of the milling Numidians. They headed straight for the Twenty-Eighth. Most of the enemy cavalrymen had yet to realise what had gone on. However, four of Petreius' party gave chase, and Romulus' hopes, which had soared, fell again. A horse carrying two could never outrun those with single riders. The dun-coloured beast labouring beneath them was worthy enough, but it wasn't Pegasus. Sabinus cursed and drummed his heels against its ribs — to no avail.
The chasing Numidians drew closer and closer, shouting insults as they came. A spear flew lazily through the air, landing just behind them. It was followed by another, which shot past to impale itself in the sand ten steps in front. Romulus glanced back, and his mouth opened in horror as a third javelin scudded in, striking their mount in the rump. Its head went up in shock, and its gait altered, slowing almost to a walk.
Sabinus knew instantly what had happened. Throwing his right leg over, he dismounted. 'Come on!' he shouted.
Romulus didn't need any prompting. Half climbing, half falling, he got down. The horse stumbled off, the javelin still protruding from its hip. Romulus had no time to pity it. The Numidians were closing in fast, throwing spears at the ready. Perhaps fifty paces separated them.
The pair looked at each other. 'Run for it, or fight?' Romulus asked.
'They'd ride us down like dogs,' snarled Sabinus. 'We fight!'
Pleased by his comrade's reaction, Romulus nodded.
They moved to stand side by side, and prepared to die.
Two spears whistled by, but missed. That left four Numidians, each of whom had one or two shafts left. The enemy riders were expert shots from close range, and Romulus knew that, without shields, the chances of not being injured or killed in the next few moments were slim to none.
That was until he heard the strident clamour of bucinae ring out behind him.
The Numidians saw what was happening before Romulus did. Their faces creased with anger, and they pulled up. One threw a spear in a last futile gesture, and then the four horsemen turned and fled.
Romulus looked around and saw a wedge of legionaries charging towards them, their shields raised high. In their midst was Atilius. He gasped with delight. The senior centurion must have been watching to see how they got on. There could be no other explanation for their rescue. Followed by Sabinus, Romulus trotted over.
'Didn't know you could ride,' he muttered.
'I grew up on a farm,' explained Sabinus. 'We always had a few nags about the place.'
Romulus clapped him on the shoulder. 'I owe you one.'
'My pleasure.' Sabinus grinned, and Romulus knew he'd made a comrade for life.
Atilius halted his men as the two pounded in. 'Get inside,' he ordered, shoving legionaries aside. 'There's no time to waste.'
Gratefully they obeyed, and the wedge did a swift about-turn. Romulus glanced at the Numidian lines. To his surprise, the enemy cavalrymen were not trying to attack. Instead, they were milling around, shouting at each other. A few had even galloped off to the south. It didn't take much for fear to spread, thought Romulus. It was like watching the ripples in a pool after a stone went in. Riders looked at the ones who'd gone, and then followed. Then a few more did the same. Before the wedge had rejoined their
comrades, the entire mounted force had disappeared in a great cloud of dust.
'You killed Petreius then?' asked Atilius.
Romulus flushed. 'No, sir, just wounded him.'
'It was a good enough effort. He must have fled the field,' the senior centurion said with a satisfied grin. 'Look! The whoresons have lost their taste for a fight.'
Romulus stared at the Numidian infantry, who were fleeing en masse from the centre. The cavalry on the far flank wouldn't stay and fight now, when all their companions were running away. With daylight fading, it meant that they had won the vital respite Caesar's cohorts needed to retreat safely. Romulus let out a gusty sigh, realising that he was exhausted. Yet his satisfaction over what he and his comrades had managed was far stronger than his aching muscles.
'It was well done.'
Romulus looked up to find Atilius' gaze upon him. 'A joint effort, sir. I couldn't have done it without Sabinus here, and Paullus too.'
'Is Paullus dead?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Many good legionaries have fallen today,' said Atilius sadly. After a moment, though, his face cleared. 'Thanks to you both, many will live to fight again. Caesar will hear of this.'
Romulus thought his heart would burst with pride. The Pompeian forces soon called it a day and pulled back to their camp. With night fast approaching, the battle could no longer be conducted effectively. Labienus had failed to annihilate the foraging party, and missed a golden chance to capture or kill the Pompeians' greatest enemy: Caesar.
As a result, the journey back to Ruspina was uneventful. In good order, Caesar's men marched and sang, aware that they'd had a lucky escape. Romulus couldn't get over Caesar's tactics, which had been both stubborn and courageous. Few leaders would have had the self-belief to continue fighting in such a desperate situation with fearful, inexperienced troops. Making his cohorts face different ways had been improvisation of the finest quality, as had the decision to launch a last ditch counter-attack. Crassus, the only other Roman whom Romulus had served under, had possessed little of the ability which shone from practically every action of Caesar's.