The Road to Rome (6 page)

‘I’ve been to all the temples, made plenty of generous offerings. What else is there?’ asked Jovina, weariness oozing from her again.

A surge of adrenalin hit Fabiola. Seize the moment, she thought. Take control of the situation. But still she hesitated, suddenly unsure. Whatever she said had to be phrased in just the right way, or Jovina would reject it. Her former owner was not completely on her knees. Equally, her plan must not just fall flat on its face. The Lupanar could prove vital to her preparations for Caesar’s downfall. Inspired, Fabiola’s lips gave the tiniest twitch. ‘Have you ever thought of . . . retiring?’ she asked delicately. ‘Taking it easy?’

Jovina snorted; then her beady eyes fixed on Fabiola’s, like an eagle on its prey. But this bird had no power left. ‘Who would run the place? You, I suppose?’

‘It’s only a thought,’ Fabiola answered smoothly. ‘I’d pay a good price, of course. Ignore the state of the books right now and go on last year’s figures.’ She made an airy gesture. ‘If you wished, you could stay on – to oversee the transition period.’ Jovina’s input would be useful until she got the hang of day-to-day affairs.

The madam looked shocked. ‘What’s this about?’ she demanded. ‘After all you went through here, why would you want to take it over?’

Fabiola studied her manicured fingernails. ‘I’m bored,’ she declared. It wasn’t so far from the truth. ‘I need something to occupy my time, and this is a job I know well.’

‘What about Brutus?’

‘He lets me do what I want. I’ve spent years on campaign with him already and now the damn civil war looks as if it might drag on for a while,’ Fabiola complained. ‘Greece and Egypt were bad enough. I’m not trailing round Africa and Spain after him as well.’

Jovina fiddled with a thick gold bracelet on one wrist. ‘And the price?’

Fabiola had been doing mental arithmetic since the madam had revealed how few clients remained. ‘I think a hundred and fifty thousand
denarii
would suffice.’ She let the amount sink in for a moment. ‘Five thousand for each girl, and fifty thousand for the building. Any outstanding debts would have to be honoured by you.’

Jovina’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. The sum was more than generous. ‘You have access to that kind of money?’

Fabiola’s smile was serene. ‘Brutus is wealthier than you can imagine. He’ll pay anything to keep me happy.’

Jovina sat very still, considering her options.

There was a lengthy silence, during which Fabiola watched the madam from the corner of her eye. Jovina’s wiliness was not all gone. When her expression suddenly became more calculating, it was time for the killer blow. ‘I couldn’t pay an
as
more,’ Fabiola said, her tone no longer friendly. ‘And I only make a good offer once.’

Jovina sank back in her seat. ‘Give me some time,’ she whispered. ‘A few days.’

She had the old madam now, thought Fabiola jubilantly. ‘I don’t think so. Two hours should suffice.’

Jovina nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well.’

Draining the last of her wine, Fabiola stalked to the door. ‘I’ll be back by
hora sexta
.’ Triumph filled her. Finally everything is going my way. Romulus is in the army, so he will return to Rome one day and we will be reunited. Brutus might be one of Caesar’s right-hand men, but he is utterly faithful to me. The Lupanar will be mine in two hours, and with the women here, I can win more of his comrades over to my cause. To kill Caesar. Fabiola was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not react to Sextus’ hiss of alarm. It was only when he prevented her from leaving that it sank in.

She could see his face was worried. ‘What is it?’

‘Trouble,’ he muttered, pulling his
gladius
from the scabbard.

Fabiola tried to peer outside, but Sextus would not even let her do this.

Loud voices suddenly carried in from the street. One of them belonged to Vettius. ‘Piss off,’ he bellowed.

‘We’re coming in, whether you like it or not,’ a man snarled in response. ‘My master wants to talk to the old bitch right now.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Vettius answered.

A burst of laughter rang out, and Fabiola knew that the doorman must be badly outnumbered. Next she heard the distinctive sound of weapons being unsheathed. She cursed. They couldn’t just stand by and let this happen. Where was Benignus? She looked at Jovina, who had gone grey under her makeup. ‘Who are they?’

‘Thugs from the new brothel,’ Jovina managed.

‘We’ll give you one more chance, fool,’ said Vettius’ adversary. ‘Stand aside.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ came the loud response. ‘I’ll kill you all.’

Fabiola’s heart swelled with pride. Part of Vettius’ refusal to move would be because she was inside. Terror also filled her at what was about to happen.

Shouts of anger rang out and they heard men swarming forward.

‘Vettius!’ Somehow Jovina’s voice carried over the commotion. ‘Let them in.’

Silence fell outside.

With bated breath, they waited.

A shadow filled the doorway, and Fabiola found herself shrinking behind Sextus, who ushered her against the wall. A cloaked figure entered, followed by five muscle-bound men with drawn swords. Vettius bustled in next, his club raised. Seeing Fabiola unharmed, he also moved to stand in front of her. For the moment, none of the newcomers had seen her or Sextus. Beads of sweat ran down Fabiola’s neck, but her feet were rooted to the spot.

The leader’s gaze fell first on Jovina. The old madam visibly quailed. ‘What do you want?’ she asked in a shrill tone. ‘Isn’t it enough to take all my business?’

‘Jovina,’ said the man, acting hurt. ‘We only wanted to ask after your health. Word has it that you’re not well.’

‘Damn your insolence,’ snapped the madam. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Excellent.’ There was a mocking bow, and Fabiola’s heart hammered in her chest. The gesture was familiar to her. So were the man’s thick silver wrist bands and powerful build. Before she could gather her thoughts, though, the stocky figure went on, ‘We’re worried about you nonetheless. It would be an excellent idea if you left the Lupanar. Took a holiday. Soon.’

Jovina’s outburst had drained what little energy she had. ‘It’s my business,’ she said in a low voice. ‘What would happen to it? To my girls?’

‘We’ll look after everything. The building, the doormen, and especially the whores,’ said the man, leering at his companions. ‘Won’t we, lads?’

They laughed unpleasantly.

Fabiola felt the bitter taste of bile in her mouth, and she struggled not to vomit. She knew exactly who this was. Scaevola, the
fugitivarius
. A choking cough left her throat.

At the sound, he spun round to face her. The
fugitivarius
took in Vettius and Sextus with a contemptuous glance, but his eyes widened at the sight of Fabiola. A cruel smile creased his face. ‘By all the gods,’ he breathed. ‘Who would have believed it?’

Suddenly lightheaded, Fabiola had to place a hand on Sextus’ shoulder. Otherwise she would have fallen.

Pontus, in northern Asia Minor, summer 47
BC

U
ndoing his chinstrap with one hand, Romulus lifted his helmet and felt liner a fraction and wiped his brow clean of sweat. It made a difference, but for only a few heartbeats. He was marching while carrying a fascine, a heavy bundle of brushwood; following Caesar’s orders, every soldier in the long column was bearing one, which meant that, despite the mountainous terrain and cool temperature, they were all sweating heavily. The army had been on the move since before dawn, and its temporary camp near the town of Zela was now several miles to the rear.

Romulus peered up at the sun, which occupied the blue sky alone. Not a single cloud was present to shade the earth below. It was early, but there was a fierce intensity to the disc’s rays that he had not seen since Parthia. The day was going to get hotter, and with it came the distinct possibility of battle, and death. If only I’d had the strength to forgive Tarquinius before he disappeared, he thought. Now I might never get the chance to say it. Again the grief welled up, and Romulus let it fill him. Constantly trying to batten the feeling down only made it worse.

Every single excruciating moment of that last day and night in Alexandria felt like yesterday. Most vivid of all was Tarquinius’ unexpected thunderbolt, the revelation that he had murdered the belligerent noble who had confronted Romulus and Brennus eight years before outside a brothel in Rome. The pair had only fled because they both thought that Romulus was responsible for the killing. Unintentionally, of course.

Tarquinius’ guilt still stung Romulus, but he’d have given anything to see the blond-haired haruspex reappear, his double-headed axe slung over
his shoulder. Instead, only the gods knew where he was. He could easily have been among the hundreds of legionaries and sailors who had died that night. Yet the three of them had almost made it, Romulus reflected sourly. If it hadn’t been for those bastard slingers, Tarquinius would be here by his side.

He and Petronius had dragged the unconscious haruspex out of the shallows and laid him safely on dry ground. Then, screamed at by frantic
optiones
and centurions, they had joined the battle to defend the island. The ensuing battle was short, vicious and decisive. No infantry in the world could better the Roman legionary in a confined space such as the Heptastadion. The enemy troops had been hurled back on to the mainland, with heavy casualties. It was bittersweet knowledge for Romulus, who, bloodied and battered, had come to find Tarquinius in its aftermath.

Bizarrely, there had been no sign of the haruspex; only a reddened imprint in the sand remained where he had lain. A quick search of the area had revealed nothing either. Even with the glow from the lighthouse and the fire on the docks, there were plenty of places to hide among the boulders on the shore.

In some ways, Romulus had not been surprised by Tarquinius’ disappearance. He still wasn’t. He had had no further chance to search for his friend at the time. His only option would have been to desert, but, angered by the disappearance of one of his new recruits, Romulus’
optio
had placed a watch on him night and day. To make matters worse, the following afternoon Caesar’s triremes had evacuated the entire army and sailed along the coastline to the east of Alexandria. Full of despair, Romulus was among their number. He’d tried to rally his spirits by imagining that Fabiola had heard his shout and would soon send word to him. It worked – partially.

Having learned a lesson in the Egyptian capital, Caesar had moved to meet his allies, who were led by Mithridates of Pergamum. Although he bore the same name as the king who had once tried Rome to its limits, Mithridates was no relation and was a trusted supporter of Caesar’s. Comprised of Syrian and Judaean soldiers, his relief force had already encountered the main Egyptian army, which was commanded by the teenage King Ptolemy and his aides. After an initial setback, Mithridates had sent for help from Caesar, who was delighted to leave Alexandria’s claustrophobic streets behind. His legionaries had all felt the same, with the obvious
exception of Romulus. Not even a stunning victory against the Egyptians, when thousands of enemy troops died and the young king had drowned, could lift his mood.

With control of Egypt in his hands, Caesar returned to Alexandria, and Cleopatra, the king’s sister. She had become his lover, so naturally, Caesar installed her as queen. Not that Romulus cared. Frantic, still heartbroken, he had resumed his search for Tarquinius. But weeks had gone by since the battle in the harbour, and whatever trail there might have been had long gone cold. In a city of more than a million people, what chance was there of finding one man? Borrowing whatever money he could from his new comrades, Romulus had spent it in the temples and marketplaces, hoping against hope he would discover something.

Not as much as a snippet.

Two months later, when the legions were leaving the city, Romulus had been in debt to the tune of a year’s pay. I did my best, he thought wearily. There was no more I could have done.

Bucinae
rang out, dragging Romulus back to the present. The call meant ‘Enemy in sight’. At once the army ground to a halt. Thump, thump, thump went the fascines on the ground. Romulus looked to Petronius, who marched on the outside of the rank. After his heroism in saving the other’s life, Romulus and Petronius had become firm friends. Petronius had even helped to look for Tarquinius, which Romulus was still grateful for. ‘Can you see anything?’ he asked.

Everyone was trying to see why they had stopped. There was a palpable hunger in most men’s eyes. A battle would make a change from the boredom of the previous few months. Keen to establish his authority over all Rome’s vassal territories, Caesar had first visited Judaea and Syria. Intimidated by his troops’ mere presence, the local rulers had fallen over themselves to pledge their allegiance. With plentiful tributes collected, the legions’ peaceful travels had continued with a voyage to Cilicia on the coast of Asia Minor.

Caesar had then headed for Bithynia and Pontus, where King Pharnaces was stirring up all kinds of trouble. A son of Mithridates, the Lion of Pontus and scourge of Rome twenty years before, Pharnaces was as warlike as his father. While Caesar and his men were trapped in Alexandria, he had raised an army and begun a brutal war against Calvinus, the Roman
commander in the area. Inflicting heavy losses on Calvinus, Pharnaces’ men had subsequently castrated all Roman civilians who fell into their hands.