The Road to Rome (18 page)

‘The place has gone to rack and ruin,’ Fabiola replied drily.

‘I haven’t been well,’ Jovina muttered, clutching her copy of the bill of sale tightly. ‘Things got on top of me.’

‘I can see that. You can cope with getting it cleaned, I presume?’

‘Of course.’ Jovina smiled, revealing her few remaining pegs.

‘The girls won’t have anything to do while the brothel is closed, so they can all pitch in. The domestic slaves too. I want it finished by tonight, because the builders will be arriving at dawn,’ announced Fabiola, her face lighting up as she pictured the Lupanar restored to its former glory. ‘Is that clear?’

Jovina didn’t argue. Part of her was glad to see new blood in charge. ‘It is,’ she said, a grudging respect creeping into her voice.

I don’t deserve that yet, thought Fabiola. Maybe when the customers return – if Scaevola hasn’t burned the building down around our ears by then. But she wasn’t going to let her worries ruin everything. She smiled
at Jovina, pleased that someone who had ruled her life for years was acknowledging her ability. ‘Good. Benignus!’

He came running from his position by the door. A broad grin had been permanently plastered on both the doormen’s faces since Fabiola’s arrival. She looked after them as Jovina never had. ‘Mistress?’

Lifting a small leather pouch from the desk, Fabiola tossed it to him.

Surprised by its weight, his eyebrows rose.

‘Find me men who can fight. Try the
ludi
. Go to the slave market too. If you have no luck there, then round up some citizens,’ she ordered. ‘Tough-looking ones.’

Benignus was delighted. ‘How many?’

‘At least a dozen, but more if you can find them. Big, small, old, young – I don’t care. Just make sure that they can handle themselves. They are to live here and defend the Lupanar from that vile piece of work Scaevola. Offer them fifteen
denarii
a month.’ Fabiola’s jaw hardened. ‘For that kind of money, I expect them to fight. And die, if necessary.’

Lifting his club in anticipation of bloodshed, Benignus nodded eagerly.

‘You and Vettius will be in charge,’ she went on. ‘Feel free to knock heads together whenever you want. Make sure that they know not to touch any of the girls. Warn them that the first one who does will be killed.’

Benignus was beaming from ear to ear now. This was what he and his comrade had been wishing for.

‘Off you go,’ said Fabiola. ‘It might take a while.’

Bobbing his head, the shaven-headed doorman hurried out of the door.

Fabiola followed him, tailed by Jovina, her new shadow. She was keen to decide how the reception area could be improved. Apart from the bedrooms where the prostitutes entertained the customers, this was the most important room in the building, the one which gave a good or bad first impression. Making it look elegant and classy once more would be an important part of the Lupanar’s facelift.

Fabiola was still musing over the details when she became aware of a conversation going on between Vettius and someone just outside the entrance.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but the business is closed for refurbishment,’ said Vettius politely. ‘We reopen in a week’s time.’

‘Do you know who I am?’ growled the man in a deep, cultured voice.

Vettius coughed awkwardly. ‘The Master of the Horse, sir.’

Fabiola’s hand rose to her mouth. What was Marcus Antonius doing here?

‘Exactly,’ declared the other. ‘Now stand aside.’

Pursing her lips, Fabiola stalked to the door, determined to see off this unwelcome visitor. Antonius was Scaevola’s employer, and while he probably knew nothing of her feud with the
fugitivarius
, she wanted nothing to do with him. He was Caesar’s most loyal follower.

Bumping into the cloaked figure that strode across the portal, she nearly fell. Quickly Antonius stooped and grasped her arm, preventing her from doing so. Fabiola found herself face to face with the second most powerful man in Rome and her breath caught in her throat. This close, his animal magnetism was overpowering. ‘Marcus Antonius,’ she stuttered, taken aback. ‘What are you doing here?’

He smiled, discomfiting her further. ‘I might ask the same thing of you. No one told me that Venus herself had come to live in the Lupanar.’

Fabiola flushed, and her heart hammered in her chest.

‘Do you work here?’ Antonius asked.

‘No. I’m the owner,’ she answered.

He eyed Jovina, who instantly affected not to notice. ‘Since when?’

‘A few days ago,’ Fabiola replied, angry that he had her so utterly on the back foot. ‘It’s a new business venture.’

‘And you have experience in the field?’

There was a titter from Jovina, hastily converted to a cough.

Fabiola stared daggers at the old madam. ‘Some.’ She wasn’t going to go into more detail.

‘I missed meeting you before then,’ murmured Antonius. ‘Shame.’

Fabiola ignored his comment. What was less easy to disregard were his roving eyes, which were busily undressing her. In return, she couldn’t help but admire his burly physique and bulging muscles. Jupiter, he had presence. ‘My apologies, but we’re closed until next week, sir,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from quivering. ‘Perhaps you could come back then?’

‘You don’t understand.’ He gave her the full weight of his penetrating stare. ‘I haven’t had a woman in two days.’

‘In that case, I’m sure something can be arranged,’ Fabiola whispered,
not sure what she even meant. ‘Go and get the cleaning started,’ she barked at Jovina.

With a disappointed look, Jovina disappeared up the corridor. No longer the madam, she had to obey.

At once Fabiola led Antonius into her office. ‘Sit down and have some wine,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch my best lookers in a moment.’

He shrugged off his cloak, revealing a plain military tunic. An ornate
pugio
hung from his leather belt. ‘Have we met before?’

‘In Gaul. After Alesia,’ Fabiola replied, blushing like a girl. How could she not have noticed his easy grace then? She had been too relieved to see Brutus again.

‘Ah yes. Decimus Brutus’ lover.’ The corners of his lips tugged upward. ‘I remember your beauty now – and your naïveté in front of Caesar.’

Fabiola’s cheeks burned at the memory. ‘I’d had too much wine,’ she muttered.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Fabiola was at a loss for words. After all the men she’d unwillingly had sex with, she had never really thought to desire one. Yet every fibre of her being wanted Antonius. Right now. ‘I’ll fetch those girls,’ she faltered.

It was as if he knew. Standing, Antonius paced towards her on the balls of his feet. ‘No need,’ he murmured. ‘What I want is right here.’

‘I’m the owner,’ Fabiola protested weakly. ‘Not a whore.’

Ignoring her, Antonius pulled her close, fondling her full breasts and kissing her neck.

Fabiola revelled in his touch, and shoved him away with great difficulty. What was going on, she thought, panicking. I never lose control.

‘Come now,’ he murmured. ‘I can see you want me.’

A sound outside the room saved Fabiola from herself. Had that been a stifled cough? Raising a finger to her lips, she pointed. Antonius watched, smirking, as Fabiola darted to the door and threw it open. To her immense relief, there was no one in the corridor or reception area, but fingers of unease still tickled her spine. She beckoned urgently to Antonius. If someone – particularly Jovina – had eavesdropped on their conversation, Brutus would find out. Fabiola quaked at the thought of his reaction.

‘When can I see you?’ asked Antonius.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, still confused. Then, despite herself, she kissed him on the lips. ‘We can’t meet here.’

‘One of my properties will do. I’ll send a messenger telling you where to go.’ Antonius gave her a deep bow. Checking the street was clear, he ducked outside.

As she watched him go, Fabiola’s heart was filled with a mixture of emotions: elation at the desire she’d felt, and sheer terror that someone had overheard what had gone on in her office. Despite this, she couldn’t halt the surge of anticipation at the thought of seeing Antonius again.

Fabiola smiled as another thought struck.

If she became Antonius’ lover, Scaevola wouldn’t dare to harm her.

The island of Rhodes, off Asia Minor

T
arquinius walked up the narrow street from the harbour, old memories flooding back. He had been here decades before, as a young man. Of the many places he’d visited after Olenus’ death, Rhodes had been one of the most interesting. Before arriving here, he had been in the legions, fighting under both Lucullus and Pompey in Asia Minor. In marked contrast to Tarquinius’ quiet upbringing on a
latifundium
, his army career had provided the haruspex with comradeship, military experience and a means of seeing the world. His lips twisted upwards in a wry grin. For the most part, those four years had been a good time in his life. Although Tarquinius hated Rome for everything it had done to the Etruscans, his people, during that period he had come to feel a grudging admiration for its soldiers’ efficiency, courage and sheer determination. Even after his lucky escape from Caesar’s men in Alexandria, he felt it.

Tarquinius muttered an instinctive prayer of thanks to Mithras. While the god had not permitted him to discover much of worth in the library, he had to be responsible for guiding his tiring legs down a street where a riot against the Romans was about to break out. Forgetting Tarquinius, their quarry, the chasing legionaries had joined their beleaguered comrades, allowing the haruspex to reach the port, and a ship to Rhodes. His escape had seemed heaven sent. Or were the gods just playing with him? A glance at the cloudless sky revealed nothing. It had been the same for weeks. The only thing he ever saw was a brooding sense of menace over Rome. If Tarquinius tried to see who might be at risk, his vision vanished. So he had no idea if he had to worry about Romulus, his sister Fabiola or someone else he knew in the capital. He’d had a recurring and unsettling
nightmare about a murder in the area of the Lupanar, a bloody scuffle which ended with a man lying blood-covered and motionless while other indistinct figures shouted over it. Tarquinius took it to be his killing of Caelius, which told him nothing. Resigned, he shrugged. For whatever reason, he had reached Rhodes, another place of great learning. Maybe here he would find some answers.

Reaching an open area dominated by a brightly painted Doric temple, Tarquinius stopped. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips. He’d climbed up from the main settlement, with its grid of parallel streets and residential blocks, to reach this: the Agora, the beating heart of the town. A bustling marketplace full of stalls, it was also the historic meeting place for the local citizens. A grand shrine to Apollo overlooked it; there were plentiful altars to other gods; and his destination, the Stoic school, was only a block away.

Tarquinius could vividly remember the first time he had walked into the Agora. It hadn’t been that long after he’d run from the legions, when fear of discovery had been his constant companion. He’d deserted after facing up to the fact that joining the Roman army had been no more than a futile attempt to forget Olenus and his teaching. He’d realised that was no way to live his life. Thus, after a search of Lydia in Asia Minor had revealed little evidence of the Etruscans’ origins, he had come here, to Rhodes. The Stoic school in the city had been a centre of learning for centuries, the home of scholars such as Apollonius, and Posidonius, whom the haruspex had heard speak on a number of occasions. This was where rich young Romans came to learn rhetoric, philosophy and to hone their oratorical skills for the cut and thrust of the Senate. Sulla had been a pupil here; so too had Pompey and Caesar.

Tarquinius’ first visit had gleaned him little insight into the Etruscans’ past, or his own future. He frowned, hoping that this occasion would be different. That his persistent dream would be explained. To have reached Rhodes for the second time, especially when he hadn’t expected it, felt most promising. Winded and desperate when he’d reached the merchants’ harbour in Alexandria, the haruspex had leapt on the first ship which would take a paying passenger. Fortunately he’d had enough money to pay the captain, a hard-nosed Phoenician. Yet once on board, despairing that he would never discover what to do next, Tarquinius had sunk into a
depression that had lasted for days as the merchant vessel hogged the coast of Judaea and Asia Minor. However, then it had sailed in to Rhodes. Was it just a coincidence? Tarquinius wasn’t sure. As so often before, his attempts at divining had revealed little or nothing of use. Perhaps his coming here was a big joke on the part of the gods, to show him the futility of his life? He hoped it was not so. Surely his visions of Rome and of the Lupanar meant something?

Since the trauma of his parting from Romulus had been added to by his flight from Alexandria, Tarquinius had been ravaged by self-doubt. This was unsurprising. Despite making a journey as remarkable as that of the Lion of Macedon, the haruspex hadn’t managed to discover where his mysterious people had come from. While his companions, two of the bravest men possible, had fallen by the wayside or disappeared, he had come full circle, unscathed except for his scars. He railed against the injustice of it. Brennus had chosen a hero’s death, fighting a berserk elephant so that his friends could escape. Romulus was alive, but he was a conscript in one of Caesar’s legions: facing death on a daily basis in the civil war, he would be lucky to survive. To Tarquinius, there increasingly seemed little point in living.