The Road to Rome (11 page)

Nervously, Fabiola and Sextus followed. In silence, they passed a succession of doors, all of which were closed. Fabiola wondered who might be in the chambers beyond. From one came the low sound of men chanting. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tune was slow and mournful and did little to calm her jangling nerves.

The priestess came to a halt at last. Producing a key from within her robes, she unlocked the door before them, which opened noiselessly, adding to the air of pressure. Inside was a large windowless chamber, its plastered surfaces painted an ominous, dark red colour. As in the hallway, the only light came from a few oil-burning lamps on the walls. There was barely any furniture, apart from a plain cement furnace on a square platform of bricks, situated at the back of the room. Staring in, Fabiola felt a warm current of air bathing her cheeks. A strong smell of incense also carried
through the doorway. A deep red glow in the oven’s opening revealed the source of the intense heat. To one side of it lay a pile of fuel, and on the other sat a small altar decorated with a statue of Orcus.

‘You may make your offering here,’ said the young priestess. ‘Without interruption.’

Fabiola’s grip on the lead squares grew so tight that she felt them begin to bend at the edges. She stopped, worried that any damage might affect her requests of the god. Nothing must go wrong. Her very life depended on it. Nodding firmly, Fabiola walked in, tailed by Sextus.

The priestess also entered, shutting the door. Moving to the altar, she bent her head in prayer. Unsure what to do next, Fabiola did the same. Compared to the cool of the corridor and the rain-soaked streets, this room was like a
caldarium
, the hottest place in a bathing complex. Thanks to the incense which was burning, the atmosphere was heavy and intense. Despite her soaked clothing, Fabiola felt sweat break out all over her body. She was used to the fuggy warmth of a full Mithraeum, but this was different. Some temples had fires to throw small offerings on, but not this roaring furnace, which reminded Fabiola of what Hades might be like. Fresh fear gripped her, yet she forced herself to stay calm. Orcus was no ordinary god. Gifts to him were cast in their entirety into the flames, there to be consumed. Hence the need for the oven.

Orcus, Fabiola thought, raising her eyes to the statue. Implacable, it stared right back. Mighty god of the underworld, hear me, she entreated. Once again, my life is in danger from Scaevola. He is an evil man and a murderer who will stop at nothing. I have no real means of stopping him without your help. Rid me of this whoreson, and I’ll be in your debt for ever. I will erect an altar to you, and there a goat will be sacrificed once a year for the rest of my days. As an extra incentive, Fabiola leaned forward and placed a stack of silver coins before the figurine. A sharp intake of breath from the priestess proved that the amount was impressive.

There was a loud crackling sound and flames belched up inside the furnace. Startled, Fabiola craned her head to see. Neither Sextus nor the priestess had done anything, but the fire was now roaring as if a smith was working a pair of bellows on it. She looked around, expecting to spot a demon hard at work, but all she could see were the four crimson walls, pressing in on her like a tomb. Long yellow-orange flames licked at the
oven’s opening, making it seem like the glowing maw of a ravening mythical beast. Terror overcame Fabiola at last and she froze.

‘This is a propitious moment,’ intoned the priestess. ‘Make your offering.’

Her voice nearly made Fabiola jump out of her skin. She looked round at the grey-robed girl and nodded, jerkily. Did she seem vaguely familiar? There was no time to ponder. With the priestess urging her forwards, Fabiola opened her hand. There, on her palm, the three lead squares lay, inert and innocuous-looking. Like the hatred in her heart, though, they were far from that.

‘Throw them in as deep as you can,’ ordered the priestess.

Stepping as close as she could bear, Fabiola drew back her arm and flung the pieces of metal into the fire. They were lost to sight in the blink of an eye. She sighed. It was almost done, but what remained was critically important. Fabiola had no wish to bring down divine retribution upon herself for this act. As other Romans did, she made her offering on specified conditions. She was so wound up about this that she began whispering out loud instead of praying silently. ‘Keep me safe from harm, great Orcus,’ she muttered, staring into the bright blaze. ‘And those who are important to me. Romulus. Brutus. Sextus. Benignus and Vettius. Docilosa.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind her, and Fabiola realised that her request had not been internal after all. She glanced around at the priestess, whose face had gone white and pinched-looking.

‘Who is Docilosa?’

‘My servant,’ replied Fabiola, startled. ‘Why?’

Visibly disappointed, the priestess answered with another question. ‘Not a slave?’

‘She used to be,’ admitted Fabiola, avoiding any mention of her own origins. She felt a little discomfited now. ‘But she has been a freedwoman for nearly six years now.’

Hope filled the other’s face. ‘What age is she?’

A tremor of suspicion tickled Fabiola’s memory. ‘I don’t know, exactly. Probably about forty.’

The priestess’s composure cracked now, leaving the grief of a young girl in its place. ‘Who was her owner?’

‘Jovina,’ said Fabiola. ‘The owner of the Lupanar.’

‘Orcus be praised,’ gasped the priestess. ‘Mother is still alive!’

It was Fabiola’s turn to be shocked. ‘Sabina?’

The priestess stiffened. ‘You know my name?’

‘Docilosa has mentioned you many times,’ explained Fabiola, smiling. ‘She has grieved every day since your parting, and searched for you in countless temples. She never gave up hope of seeing you again.’

There was a flicker of a smile. ‘Where is she?’

‘In my house,’ said Fabiola. ‘It’s not far.’

Sabina’s expression softened for a heartbeat, and then grew hard once more. ‘Why are you her mistress? Is Jovina dead?’

Fabiola bit back her instinctive retort to the interrogation. Under normal circumstances, she would not tolerate this level of rudeness from anybody. This was not a typical situation, though, and Docilosa was very dear to her. Moreover, Sextus already knew of her past. ‘Jovina is still alive, although only the gods know for how much longer. She used to own us both.’

‘You weren’t a domestic slave like my mother, I take it,’ Sabina snorted.

Fabiola’s nostrils flared at her presumption. An ordinary household slave was worth far less than a good-looking virgin, so Gemellus had sold her as a whore. It wasn’t as if she’d had any choice in the matter. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I wasn’t.’

Sabina’s top lip curled with disdain.

‘If you’d been more of a looker, that might have been your fate,’ said Fabiola, riled by her arrogance. ‘Thank the gods it was not.’

A retort sprang to Sabina’s lips, but she bit it back. ‘Who bought you, then?’

Fabiola took a deep breath. ‘My lover saw fit to buy my manumission and, because I asked him, that of your mother also.’

At this, Sabina grew a fraction less surly. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

‘Because Docilosa has been a good friend to me,’ Fabiola replied. ‘She’ll want to come and see you at once. Is that permitted?’

‘Visitors are not encouraged, but there are ways around it,’ Sabina said craftily. ‘We can use a room like this to meet. The best time is mid-morning, when the temple is busy. None of the priests will notice then.’

‘Good,’ Fabiola declared briskly, concealing her dislike. ‘I’ll tell her.’ She turned to go.

Sabina wasn’t finished. ‘You must have an urgent need to visit in such weather,’ she said, probing.

‘My business for being here is my own,’ Fabiola retorted. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘You forget yourself,’ snapped Sabina. ‘I am a senior priestess here and, as such, privy to the god’s thoughts and wishes.’

Furious, Fabiola nonetheless forced her expression to become humble. To have achieved such a position from slavery while so young, Sabina must be a woman of immense ability. In addition, by angering one of Orcus’ important disciples, she herself risked losing any chance of her request being granted. ‘Forgive me,’ she muttered from between clenched teeth. ‘It’s nothing much. Just some trouble from a business rival.’

‘You work in the Lupanar still?’

‘No,’ replied Fabiola quickly. She grimaced at her instinctive denial. ‘Yes. I bought the place from Jovina yesterday.’

Sabina’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see. Why?’

Fabiola did not like this unhealthy interest in her affairs. What was behind it? Placed on the back foot by her fear of Orcus and Sabina’s confidence, though, she had no easy answer. There was no harm in telling some of the truth, she supposed. ‘My lover is in Caesar’s army, and I’ve been on campaign with him for over two years,’ she replied. ‘I’ve had enough. I want to stay here in Rome, and running the Lupanar is something that comes naturally to me.’

‘It would,’ said Sabina haughtily.

Fabiola wanted to claw her eyes out, but she dared do nothing. They exchanged a frosty glance. Sabina could see her anger, she thought, and was revelling in it. Unless Docilosa could bring some influence to bear, here was a potential enemy.

The next question came. ‘Who’s your lover?’

‘Decimus Brutus.’

Sabina’s eyebrows rose. ‘One of Caesar’s right-hand men? You must be very . . . persuasive.’

Fabiola fought the colour that rose to her cheeks and lost. Damn the girl, she thought. Where does the venom come from? Docilosa’s not like this. Then she glanced at the statue on the altar beside her, and was shocked back to where she was. Orcus was not the jovial Bacchus, nor the caring
Aesculapius. Even the powerful triad of Jupiter, Minerva and Juno were less dread-inspiring than the god of the underworld. While they were all powerful, they did not take a person’s soul for eternity. What could it have been like for Sabina, sold here as a six-year-old acolyte? Fabiola wondered. There was a hardness to the other’s mien that perhaps she had not noticed before. Maybe being sold into a brothel was not the only way to Hades?

‘As you say,’ she murmured, moving towards the exit. Sextus gave her a reassuring look, and she managed a small grin in reply. With luck, the grilling was over. More importantly, Fabiola hoped that Orcus had not been angered by her clash with one of his priestesses. Extra prayers would have to be offered up to Jupiter and Mithras, asking for their intervention with their brother deity.

They reached the door without hearing Sabina speak again. Turning the iron handle, Fabiola glanced around. With her back to them, the priestess was on her knees before the altar. It was as obvious a sign of dismissal as Fabiola had ever been given, and her heart sank. She could think of nothing else to say, so she just closed the door behind her.

Deep in her misery, Fabiola paid little attention as they walked back to the entrance. Who knew what malevolent influence Sabina could bring to bear? Afterwards, she would blame herself for not concentrating, but in reality there was little she could have done to prevent what happened next.

As Fabiola drew alongside one of the many doors in the passageway, it opened. Still wishing to remain anonymous, she didn’t turn her head. There was an angry gasp from Sextus, though, and Fabiola heard his
gladius
snickering from its scabbard. She came back to reality with a bang. What was he doing? Drawing a weapon inside a temple would draw down the wrath of any deity, let alone Orcus. Turning, Fabiola’s mouth opened in rebuke. She was just in time to see a stocky man plunging a sword deep into Sextus’ side.

It was Scaevola.

Alexandria, Egypt

S
oaking up the warm sunshine, Tarquinius walked slowly along the street’s central section, among the tall palm trees and ornate fountains. At least thirty paces across, the boulevard had to be three times wider than the biggest avenue in Rome. On its own, it was impressive. Taken with the lofty buildings on each side, the luxuriance of the trees’ shade and the whispering water all around, it was truly awe-inspiring. Despite its widespread reputation, the haruspex had never truly believed that the Egyptian capital could be quite so impressive. Yet it was. This, the stunning Canopic Way, was not even unique in Alexandria, the most grand of cities. Equally impressive was the Argeus, the main thoroughfare that ran from north to south, and which intersected with the Canopic Way at a magnificent crossroads.

While he took little pleasure from the sights, every one of the metropolis’ five quarters lived up to the same standard. Countless royal palaces dotted the northern parts; near the centre were the striking Paneium, a man-made hill topped by a temple to Pan, and the Sema, the marble-walled enclosure that contained the tombs of the Ptolemy kings as well as that of Alexander of Macedon. In the western quarter, where Tarquinius was now heading, were the main part of the library, and the Gymnasium, the grand building where young men were taught Hellenistic values and sports including running, wrestling and javelin-throwing. Not a man who was easily surprised, the haruspex’ jaw had fallen open the first time he saw its immense porticos. Each was more than a
stade
in length – nearly an eighth of a mile – making the Gymnasium dwarf any structure he’d ever seen, apart from the Pharos, Alexandria’s mighty lighthouse.