The Road to Rome

by Ben Kane

  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.

  ‘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.

  Chapter III: Pharnaces

  Pontus, in northern Asia Minor, summer 47 BC

  Undoing 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.