The Road to Rome (5 page)

Seeing her pinched face, Sextus laid a hand to his
gladius
. ‘What is it, Mistress?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, pulling the hood of her cloak closer. ‘It’s just bad memories.’

He reached up to touch his empty eye socket, his own memento of Scaevola’s ambush. ‘I know, Mistress,’ he growled. ‘Best to keep moving, though. Avoid attention.’

Determined not to let dread rule her any longer, Fabiola followed him. It was mid-morning after all, the safest time of the day, when ordinary people got their business done. Women and slaves shopped for food among the bakers, butchers and vegetable merchants. Wine-sellers boasted and lied about the quality of their produce, offering a taste to anyone who would listen. Blacksmiths toiled over their anvils while neighbouring carpenters and potters exchanged idle banter over a cup of
acetum
. The stink from the nearby tanneries and fullers’ workshops laced the air. Money-changers sat at low tables, glaring at the cripples who were greedily eyeing their neat piles of coins. Snot-nosed urchins ran through the crowds, chasing each other and stealing what they could. Nothing looked different to any other day in Rome.

Except for the plentiful numbers of Antonius’ legionaries, of course, thought Fabiola. The old law denying entry to the city to soldiers had been set aside by Caesar himself. With the threat of rioting constant, there were more of them about than ever. The knowledge gave her strength. In addition to Sextus’ presence, they would ensure nothing happened to her. Fabiola stuck out her chin. The Lupanar wasn’t far. ‘Come on,’ she declared.

Sextus grinned, used to her determination.

A short while later, they had reached a street that Fabiola knew better than any in Rome. Close to the Forum, it was home to the Lupanar. Again her feet slowed, but this time her fear was under better control. Today, she was no terrified thirteen-year-old dragged here to be sold. Soon Fabiola’s nervousness had been replaced by excitement. She began to outstrip Sextus.

‘Mistress!’

She ignored his cry. The crowds finally parted a few steps from the entrance and Fabiola’s mouth fell open. Nothing had changed. A brightly painted, erect stone penis still jutted forth on either side of the arched doorway, graphic evidence of the business’s nature. Outside stood a
shaven-headed hulk, clutching a metal-studded club. ‘Vettius,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

The huge man did not react.

Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Fabiola moved closer. ‘Vettius.’ The doorman’s brow wrinkled at being called by name and he glanced around.

‘Don’t you recognise me?’ she asked. ‘Have I changed that much?’

‘Fabiola?’ he stuttered. ‘Is it you?’

With tears of happiness filling her eyes, she nodded. Here was one of the most loyal friends she had ever had. When Brutus had bought Fabiola’s freedom, she had been desperate for him to free the two doormen also. Wily to the last, however, Jovina had refused all offers. The pair were simply too valuable to her business. Leaving them behind had torn a deep wound in Fabiola’s heart.

Vettius rushed to give her a hug, but stopped short.

Sextus had shot in front of Fabiola. Dwarfed by the other, he nonetheless drew his sword. ‘Stay back,’ he snarled.

In a heartbeat, Vettius’ face went from surprised to angry, but before he could respond Fabiola had laid a hand on Sextus’ arm. ‘He’s a friend,’ she explained, ignoring her bodyguard’s confused expression. With a scowl, Sextus stood aside, allowing Fabiola and Vettius to gaze at each other. ‘It’s been too long,’ she said warmly.

Conscious of his low status, the lantern-jawed doorman did not try to hug her again, instead making an awkward bow. ‘Jupiter, it’s good to see you, Fabiola,’ he said, half choking. ‘The gods must have answered my prayers.’

Fabiola picked out the concern in his voice at once. Sudden terror filled her. ‘Is Benignus all right?’

‘Of course!’ A lop-sided smile split Vettius’ unshaven face. ‘The big fool is inside. Snoring his head off, no doubt. He was on the late shift last night.’

‘Thank Mithras,’ she breathed. ‘What is it then?’

He looked around uneasily.

Jovina, thought Fabiola, remembering her own caution when she lived here. Nothing wrong with the old witch’s hearing yet then.

Vettius stooped low to her ear. ‘Morale has been terrible for months,’ he whispered. ‘We’ve lost most of our customers too.’

Fabiola was shocked. In her time, the Lupanar had been busy every day. ‘Why?’

The doorman had no time to answer.

‘Vettius!’

Fabiola felt an instant wave of nausea. For nearly four years, that shrewish voice had called her out to be inspected by prospective customers.

‘Vettius!’ This time Jovina sounded irritated. ‘Get in here.’

With an apologetic grimace at Fabiola, the doorman obeyed.

She and Sextus were one step behind him.

The mosaic-floored reception area within was just as garish as Fabiola remembered it. Its walls were covered from top to bottom in richly coloured paintings of forests, rivers and mountains. Fat little cupids, satyrs and various deities were dotted throughout, peeking coyly at the viewer. The most prominent of the gods was Priapus, with his massive erect penis. One wall was covered with images of sexual positions; each was numbered so that clients could easily ask for their favourite. In the centre of the floor was a large painted statue of a naked girl entwined with a swan. The whole room had a faintly dishevelled air, as if it needed a good clean, and Vettius’ words began to make some sense.

To one side stood a little sparrow of a woman in a low-cut
stola
. Fabiola’s heart skipped a beat at her first sight of Jovina in five years. At first glance it seemed as if not much had changed. Plenty of the madam’s sagging flesh was still on view; beady eyes flashed from a lined face covered in lead, ochre and antimony. Her lips were painted a gaudy red. Jewellery glittered around her neck, wrists and fingers – gold, silver and precious stones. Jovina was famed for her discretion, and these gifts from her rich clients proved it. ‘Go and wake that fool Benignus,’ she snapped at Vettius. ‘I need him to go out for me.’

‘Mistress,’ Vettius muttered. He moved towards the passage which led to the back of the building.

Fabiola, who had been hidden behind him, was revealed. ‘Jovina.’

For once, the crone was unable to conceal her amazement. A wrinkled hand rose to her gash of a mouth, and fell away. ‘Fabiola . . . ?’

Sextus’ eyebrows rose in shock. Here was startling evidence of his mistress’s previous life.

‘I’ve come back,’ Fabiola said simply.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ Jovina gushed, her public persona taking over again. ‘Can I offer you a drink? Some food? A girl?’ She cackled at her own joke, setting off a paroxysm of coughing.

‘How kind. Some wine, thank you.’ Fabiola smiled. Inwardly, she was shocked at Jovina’s haggard appearance. The madam had already been old when Fabiola arrived in the Lupanar. Today she looked positively ancient, and ill. There had never been much to her, but now Jovina’s bones jutted everywhere from under her wrinkled skin, turning her into a walking skeleton. Fabiola almost expected to see Orcus, the god of the underworld, waiting in the corner.

The madam scuttled to her desk, which was positioned by the corridor. A red and black clay jug sat there with four fine blue glasses, along with small dishes containing olives and bread. This was refreshment for those clients Jovina deemed suitable.

Returning with two filled goblets, Jovina stumbled and nearly fell. A brittle smile spread across her face. ‘Excuse my clumsiness,’ she muttered.

The crone is really sick, thought Fabiola.

‘Here we are,’ purred Jovina. ‘Just like old times.’

‘Not quite,’ she replied archly. ‘I’m a citizen now.’

‘And the lover of no less a man than Decimus Brutus,’ said Jovina, probing. ‘He paid a lot of money for you.’

‘Thank the gods,’ Fabiola answered. ‘I show him my appreciation of it every day.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said the madam, beaming falsely. ‘A happy ending!’

Making polite small talk, they both sipped their wine. Each studied the other, Jovina wondering what her former slave’s purpose was, and Fabiola trying to assess the situation in the brothel. Neither gained a single crumb of information. Inevitably perhaps, their conversation turned to the civil war and Caesar’s accession to power. Whatever her opinion, Jovina was careful to shower praise on Brutus’ general. ‘Rumour has it that he is trapped in Alexandria,’ she said at last. ‘That cannot be true, surely?’

‘It is. He and his men are badly outnumbered by the Egyptians,’ Fabiola answered. ‘Brutus and I escaped with great difficulty.’

Jovina gasped. ‘Caesar is such a canny general. What has happened?’

Fabiola wasn’t going to go into the details. Caesar’s rapid pursuit of Pompey after the battle of Pharsalus, with only a small part of his army,
was characteristic of the man. The tactic – moving so fast that an enemy was unprepared – normally worked well. This time, it hadn’t. The Egyptians’ reaction to his presence had been violent, causing him no end of problems. ‘Help was already on the way from Pergamum and Judaea when we left,’ she revealed. ‘And Marcus Antonius despatched a legion from Ostia yesterday. The blockade will soon be lifted.’

‘Jupiter be thanked,’ said Jovina, raising her glass. ‘Fortuna too.’

‘Indeed,’ replied Fabiola, dark thoughts of revenge filling her mind. When he has won the civil war, Caesar will return to Rome, where I’ll be waiting.

The noise of sandals slapping down the corridor preceded the arrival of Vettius and Benignus. Both hulks were beaming. ‘Fabiola!’ cried Benignus. He rushed to clutch at the hem of her dress like a supplicant to a queen.

Jovina made a show of pleasure, but beneath it she was clearly displeased.

‘Get up,’ Fabiola ordered fondly, taking hold of Benignus’ arms. ‘It’s wonderful to see you.’ Noticing that the thick gold bands which had encircled his wrists were gone, she frowned. Only their outline remained, yet they had been Benignus’ prize possessions. Jovina must indeed be in dire straits.

Oblivious, the madam was fussing and bothering over a document on her desk. Sealing it with wax, she handed it to Benignus. ‘You know where to take this,’ she said.

He looked a bit confused. ‘The usual moneylenders? By the Forum?’

‘Yes, of course,’ snapped Jovina, waving her arms. ‘Get moving.’

Bobbing his head, Benignus headed for the door. He threw a grin at Fabiola, which she returned, and was gone. Vettius followed him, resuming his post on the street. Sextus moved to stand just inside the entrance, from where he could keep a watchful eye on the goings-on.

Fabiola’s mind was racing. Jovina clearly didn’t like her hearing that Benignus was visiting a moneylender on her behalf. Her crazy idea suddenly seemed possible. ‘How’s business?’ she enquired brightly.

At once Jovina’s expression became cagey. ‘Good as ever,’ she replied. Another heavy bout of coughing shook her tiny frame, increasing Fabiola’s suspicions. ‘Why do you ask?’ Jovina wheezed eventually.

Fabiola looked sympathetic. ‘Running this place on your own must be such hard work,’ she murmured. ‘You look wrung out.’

The madam forced a smile, but the decaying teeth and reddened gums it revealed provided little in the way of reassurance. ‘I’m fine,’ she muttered. ‘Although trade is a little slack.’

Sensing a chink in the other’s armour, Fabiola stepped closer. ‘Really?’

Jovina’s face sagged. ‘Very poor, in fact,’ she admitted, allowing Fabiola to help her sit down. ‘About a year ago, a new brothel opened up three streets over. The madam is young and beautiful. And her business partner is bad news.’ Bitterness twisted Jovina’s lined, painted face. ‘They’ve got good contacts at the slave market too. Get the best-lookers before they even go on sale. I haven’t been able to buy a decent replacement in months. How can anyone compete with that? It’s a vicious circle; with the usual wear and tear, I’m down to twenty girls.’

Fabiola was all solicitousness. ‘What about Benignus and Vettius? They’re well capable of roughing someone up.’

A spark of life reappeared in Jovina’s tired eyes. ‘They are, but a dozen heavies with knives and swords is too much, even for them.’

It was Fabiola’s turn to be surprised. Prostitution had turned even dirtier since she’d left it behind. ‘Get them to buy more men then,’ she advised, surprised at how angered she felt by the new business’s effect on the Lupanar. ‘Or hire some gladiators. That’s not difficult.’

Another sigh. ‘I’m tired, Fabiola. My health isn’t what it was. The idea of a turf war now . . .’ Jovina stopped, looking beaten.

With a struggle, Fabiola concealed her amazement. This was the woman who had for decades run the best whorehouse in Rome. The same person who had bought her from Gemellus, tested her virginal status in the most personal of ways, and then offered up her first sexual experience to the brothel’s customers for a fortune. Sharp as a blade, Jovina had ruled the Lupanar with an iron fist. It was unsurprising that she should grow frail and weak eventually, Fabiola reflected, yet the sight of her, sick and shrunken, was still shocking. But this wasn’t the time or place for sympathy, she told herself. She owed Jovina nothing.

There was silence for a moment, and Fabiola realised that not a single man had ventured inside since she had arrived. She would have expected a few by now. ‘How bad is the trade exactly?’

Jovina had given up fighting. ‘Fortuna is smiling on us if we see more than half a dozen clients a day,’ she whispered.

Aghast at this paltry number, Fabiola again let her face reveal nothing. ‘That few?’

‘I’ve tried everything,’ said the madam. ‘Special offers, discounts, boys. I even forced the girls to offer more “specialised” services.’

Fabiola winced, but did not ask more.

‘Nothing seems to work. All of them head to that bitch down the road.’ Jovina pursed her lips in a brief revival of her former spirit. ‘A lifetime of work, and it comes to this,’ she exclaimed.

‘Something else can be done, surely?’ asked Fabiola.