The Road to Rome (51 page)

A huge part of him – influenced by the memories of his childhood – still hated the man who had violated his mother, and wanted to plunge a knife into his heart. Another part, having been freed by Caesar and then fighting under him for more than a year, held the general in the highest regard. Romulus could not deny to himself that this devoted feeling bordered on love –
was
love. Like his comrades, he had revelled in it before, but now it threw him into paroxysms of guilt. Could it even be the filial feelings of a son for his father? How could he regard Caesar like that, given the abominable way the dictator had treated his mother?

Yet he did.

Of course Fabiola could be wrong, he told himself. If Caesar hadn’t actually admitted to the rape, how could she be so sure? Their father might be any one of a thousand faceless nobles. The longer Romulus thought about it, the more convinced he became that this must be the case. Every
time he tried to consider the other option – believing Fabiola, and then possibly agreeing to help her – he grew upset and angry. He also began to compare his decision not to kill Gemellus with his predicament over Caesar. Had the merchant not been a far worse man? After all, he had raped their mother on countless occasions, rather than just once. If he hadn’t wanted to end Gemellus’ miserable life, then how could he do the same to Caesar? Romulus was genuinely disturbed by the idea of murdering the general. Furious at Fabiola for trying to destroy his idolisation of Caesar, he also felt great anguish at not believing her word completely. He worried at the problem until his head spun, but no solution emerged.

Respecting Romulus’ obvious need for silence, Secundus and the other veterans let him be. Tarquinius did not interfere either. He was regularly there for short periods, checking if Romulus needed to talk – which he didn’t – but made himself scarce the rest of the time. The young soldier was not so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t recognise this. Tarquinius had seen that he was an adult now, who made his own decisions, which made his situation all the harder. Of course the haruspex had his own demons to face; despite his best efforts, he had still not managed to perform an interpretable divination. Rather than disappear, his visions of Rome under storm clouds were visiting him daily, obscuring all else. To his shame, Romulus was somewhat relieved by this. It meant that there was no point asking Tarquinius to seek the truth about his parentage. It was better that way. Romulus wanted to resolve the matter by himself.

On the fourth morning, he resolved to go and see Fabiola. She would be wondering what had happened to him, he told himself. It was difficult to brush away the fact that while his twin knew where he was staying, no messenger had come to find him. Perhaps this could be explained by Fabiola’s need to be with her lover, but Romulus felt piqued. Brutus’ house was not far.

‘Want me to come along?’ Tarquinius asked.

‘No, thank you.’ Washed and shaved, Romulus was clad in a brand-new russet military tunic. He’d polished his
phalerae
until they shone, and greased the leather of his belt and
caligae
. He might be a plain legionary, but he could present himself well. There was no question of leaving his decorations behind in case Fabiola was offended by them: they meant the
world to Romulus. While Caesar had awarded him the
phalerae
, they stood for far more. ‘I need to do this on my own.’

Understanding, the haruspex nodded.

‘What are you planning?’

There was a shrug. ‘The usual. To try and see something of the future. Ask for information about Brennus.’

Pleased by this, Romulus took his leave. On the short walk to Brutus’
domus
, he did not consider his dilemma at all, chatting instead to Mattius. Romulus just wanted a joyous reunion with Fabiola – like the one he’d spent years imagining. That was what would happen this morning, he thought excitedly. It wouldn’t take long for everything to be as it was in their childhood. Romulus revelled in the idea of properly seeing Fabiola again, of getting to know her a little. He wanted to learn all about his sister’s life over the previous ten years – how she had risen above the degradation of prostitution to become the lover of one of the Republic’s most prominent nobles; what she had done to find their mother. Doubtless she would want to hear of his experiences too.

Romulus’ pretence did not last any longer than it took to arrive at Brutus’ residence. Giving his name to the
optio
in charge of the legionaries outside, he was ushered inside. In the
atrium
, a military messenger was taking receipt of a rolled parchment from an imposing figure in full uniform. ‘Take this straight to Caesar,’ ordered the staff officer. ‘Wait for an answer.’ Saluting crisply, the soldier brushed past Romulus on his way out. He immediately felt irritated. Did he have to be reminded of the dictator’s existence straightaway?

‘Who is this man?’

The imperious demand shocked Romulus back to the present, and he found the officer regarding him with downright suspicion. Anger flared in his belly. Who does the prick think he is? Wary of the other’s rank, he waited for the
optio
to speak.

‘Fabiola’s brother, sir. A veteran legionary,’ answered the
optio
hastily. ‘He has come to visit.’

‘I see.’ The officer raised an eyebrow. The tiny gesture was more powerful than a thousand words, clearly conveying his contempt. ‘Carry on, then.’

Romulus was furious. Arrogant bastard, he thought as the
optio
guided
him through the grand
tablinum
. Is that what Brutus will think of me too? Close on the heels of this idea was the uncomfortable fact that he might always face similar receptions from the company Fabiola now kept. Romulus was shocked by his inner voice’s instant response. Unless of course I am recognised as a son of Caesar. It was an incredible thought. If Fabiola was right, they were much closer relations of the dictator than Octavian, his grandnephew and reputed heir. I’m dreaming, Romulus told himself. We’re former slaves, not nobility.

Angered and disquieted, he still noticed the beauty and grandeur of the garden in the house’s courtyard. The sound of water was everywhere: flowing gently past him in little channels, pouring from the mouths of nymphs or splashing from delicate fountains. In between rows of vines, he saw fig and lemon trees. Well sculpted, painted statues of dryads and fauns peeped coyly from behind the lush vegetation. Like the richly decorated rooms Romulus had just passed through, the place oozed wealth.

Feeling even more uneasy, he followed the
optio
to a small open area with a table and chairs. Bread and fruit for breakfast was laid out on glazed red plates, but there was no sign of Fabiola. An amazing mosaic lay underfoot, depicting the exploits of a general on horseback. With an army of hoplites at his back, he faced an enormous host of dark-skinned soldiers, cavalry and elephants. Romulus studied it with complete fascination.

‘It’s Alexander of Macedon,’ muttered the
optio
.

‘I thought so,’ replied Romulus, remembering his interest in the Greek general as he and his comrades had marched east from Seleucia. His pleasure at that memory didn’t last. Looking at the massive war elephants made his guilt about Brennus surface all over again.

The other knew nothing of his inner turmoil. ‘What a leader Alexander was. Who knows where he might have got to if his men hadn’t refused to carry on?’ The
optio
grinned. ‘But we have our own Alexander in Caesar, and more, eh? Rumour has it that he wants to travel east once the civil war is over. That’d be an adventure worth going on!’

Startled, Romulus was about to ask the
optio
more when Fabiola arrived. Clad in a silk and linen gown which clung to her figure, she had her long black hair tied back. Bracelets and rings adorned with precious stones decorated her wrists and fingers, accentuating the deep blue of her eyes. Around her neck was a string of large pearls, each one of which would feed a
family for a year. She was the personification of poise, beauty and wealth. ‘Brother!’ she cried, sweeping towards him in a wave of rosewater perfume. ‘What took you so long?’

Romulus shuffled forward, acutely aware of his battle scars, his coarse tunic and heavy leather
caligae
. Compared to Fabiola, everything about him was rough and crude. ‘Sister,’ he said, pecking her on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you.’ He looked pointedly at the
optio
.

Taking the hint, the junior officer bowed towards Fabiola and withdrew.

She indicated the chairs by the rosewood table. ‘Sit,’ she commanded. ‘Share my breakfast.’

Romulus waited until they were alone before speaking again. ‘You needed time to patch up things with Brutus. That’s why I delayed visiting until now.’ He picked up a ripe peach and held it to his nose, enjoying its rich aroma. There had been few luxuries like this in Margiana, he thought, trying to shove away the main reason he’d stayed away. Romulus sank his teeth into the fruit, and busied himself with catching the juice. Uneasily, he realised that he was playing a game with his own sister. Waiting to see what she’d say.

Fabiola bestowed him with a stunning smile. ‘You are observant. Thank you for giving me some space.’

‘Is all well now?’

Now she looked like a cat that had got the cream. ‘Better than that. We’re happier than ever. Brutus has also complained to Caesar about Antonius’ behaviour. He told him about what happened at the Lupanar.’

‘Really?’ Romulus leaned forward, all ears. ‘What did Antonius say?’

‘He denied everything, of course. Said that Scaevola was a rogue character, a lone wolf who acted without authorisation.’ Fabiola pouted. ‘While Caesar chose to believe Antonius, he decided not to renew his position as Master of the Horse. There has been too much talk of his drunken excesses.’

‘But nothing more will come of it. Typical.’

‘One good thing did,’ retorted Fabiola. ‘Brutus had a stand-up argument with Antonius, which nearly came to blows. Caesar had to intervene in the end.’

Romulus stared at her, not understanding. ‘So?’

‘Brutus is aggrieved that Caesar did not believe his account of what had gone on before the attack on the brothel. Basically, Antonius is being shown
favouritism, even though he has committed an outrage.’ She smiled. ‘It’s helping to bring Brutus around.’

Romulus’ heart sank. There was to be no easy chat about their childhood or how they’d both survived until now. ‘To your way of thinking,’ he said heavily.

‘Yes.’ It was Fabiola’s turn to bend forward, her blue eyes dancing. ‘Brutus isn’t convinced yet, but I’ll win him over. He’ll be able to find all the senators and noblemen we need. There must be plenty who are discontented and unhappy. Caesar’s done nothing but ride roughshod over every law in the book since he got back.’

Uneasy, Romulus looked over his shoulder. This was treasonous talk.

‘Don’t worry,’ advised Fabiola. ‘Brutus has just left for the Senate, and everyone knows that I like to be left alone here. You can speak without fear.’

His sister’s blithe assumption that he would agree with her plan irritated Romulus intensely. ‘So you’re still planning to kill him?’ he whispered.

‘Of course.’ Seeing his reluctance, Fabiola pursed her lips. ‘Will you help?’

‘How can you be sure that he’s the one?’ Romulus cried. ‘That he’s our—’

‘Don’t even say the word,’ she spat. ‘Caesar is nothing but a monster who has to pay for what he’s done.’

‘Before you murder a man, you need real proof,’ Romulus countered. ‘Not just a hunch.’

‘He tried to rape me, Romulus.’

Romulus’ indecision crystallised. ‘That doesn’t mean he did the same to Mother.’

They glared at each other, both unwilling to give way.

‘Is that it?’ demanded Fabiola eventually. ‘You come back from the dead, and won’t even avenge the wrongs done to your own flesh and blood?’

Stung, Romulus got to his feet. ‘While you may have been upset by Caesar’s advances, you weren’t hurt. That’s hardly a reason to end his life. Find me evidence that he attacked Mother, and I’m all yours,’ he growled. ‘But I won’t slay someone who might be innocent. I’ve had to do that too many times before.’

‘So you think that you’re the only one who has suffered?’ Fabiola shouted.
‘Did I whore myself with every man in Rome for nothing? All I wanted was to discover where you might be, and who had raped Mother, and I hated every single moment of it. Knowing Caesar is the one, and having you by my side to kill him is surely my reward.’

Horrified by her words, Romulus looked away. What had happened to him bore no comparison to his sister’s ordeal. Yet his opinion remained the same. ‘Caesar wasn’t responsible for selling you into the Lupanar,’ he said at last. ‘Gemellus was, and he has paid the ultimate price. Let it go.’

‘It’s Caesar, Romulus, I know it,’ she said, pleading. ‘He has to pay.’

The raw emotion in Fabiola’s words drew Romulus’ eyes back. He was shocked to see that she was crying – sobbing, even. Instinctively he moved to reassure her, and she fell into his arms. ‘There, there,’ he said, awkwardly patting her back. ‘It will be all right.’

The tears stopped at once, arousing his suspicions.

‘Help me,’ she whispered.

Romulus’ jaw hardened and he pushed her away. ‘No. I can’t.’

Unshed tears glittered in Fabiola’s icy blue eyes. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

‘I told you,’ Romulus replied, stunned by her ability to change mood like the wind. ‘You have no proof.’

Again they glowered at each other.

After a few moments, Romulus broke eye contact. ‘I want no part in it,’ he said. ‘I’m going.’

At once Fabiola looked distraught, like a lost little girl. ‘Don’t leave. Please.’

Romulus stepped away from the table and bowed formally. ‘If you need me for anything – apart from
that
– you know where I’m staying.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was wobbly, but she didn’t try to stop him.

He had walked a dozen steps before Fabiola spoke again. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

Romulus spun around. ‘Is that what you think of me? That I’ll go running to Caesar?’