by Ben Kane
Recognising her voice, he turned, surprise and anger already twisting his features. ‘What are you doing here?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Come to fawn over Antonius?’
‘No,’ she protested.
‘Or Caesar?’ he said suspiciously. ‘He’s been asking for you. Wondering where you were. Why would that be?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Fabiola desperately, the news chilling her to the bone. She wished that she’d told Brutus of her near rape at Caesar’s hands three years before. If she mentioned it now of course, he wouldn’t believe her. She had to just plough on. ‘Can we talk?’
Brutus snorted. ‘Here? Now?’
She touched his arm lightly. ‘Please, my love. Give me a few moments.’
Some of the anger left his face, and he sighed. ‘Come this way.’ Beckoning, he led her past the goggling tribune to the back of the crowd. There was some space leading up to the very edge of the Capitoline Hill, and for a moment they stood in silence, looking down over Rome.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ Fabiola began. Brutus said nothing, but she knew him well enough to see that he shared the same sentiment. The tiny ember of hope in her heart flared up a little. ‘Getting involved with Antonius was such a mistake. The man’s a brute. He makes me . . .’ A sob rose in her throat at the indignities Antonius regularly forced on her. Her distress wasn’t acted, and Fabiola was heartened by Brutus’ response.
‘What does he do?’ he demanded, grabbing his sword hilt.
‘Pretty much anything and everything,’ boomed a familiar voice. ‘And she loves it!’
Blanching, Fabiola spun to find a sneering Antonius not five paces away. To her utter horror, he was accompanied by none other than Scaevola. Dark malice glittered in the fugitivarius’ deep-set eyes. Terrified, she moved closer to Brutus.
‘What did you say?’ Brutus stared at Antonius with clear dislike.
‘You heard,’ replied Antonius icily. ‘Most of the time, it’s her who suggests the position. Or the other people.’
Scaevola chuckled.
Despite himself, Brutus looked scandalised. Orgies were not his style.
‘Men, women, it doesn’t really matter,’ Antonius went on, relishing the effect his words were having on Brutus. ‘I drew the line at the gladiators, though.’
‘No,’ Fabiola cried, looking at Brutus. ‘He’s lying.’
Antonius laughed. ‘Lie about a whore like you? Why would I bother?’
Brutus scowled and Fabiola felt the situation slipping from her grasp.
A loud fanfare from the trumpeters announced Caesar’s impending arrival, and Brutus’ face changed. ‘I have to go,’ he muttered, turning on his heel.
Fabiola reached out to him. ‘Will I see you later?’ she pleaded.
His lip curled. ‘After what’s been said? I don’t think so.’ Without another word, he strode off.
A black tide of despair swamped Fabiola. If Scaevola had stabbed her there and then, she wouldn’t have cared. Of course things were never that simple. The instant Brutus was lost to sight, Antonius moved in. She felt his hand caress her throat.
‘Getting tired of me?’ he demanded.
Fabiola looked from him to Scaevola, who was grinning delightedly. In spite of her fear, her temper flared. ‘More than that,’ she hissed. ‘I hate you. Touch me again, and I’ll . . .’ Her words were lost in a cacophony of blaring trumpets.
‘Shame you feel like that. It’s been fun. All good things come to an end, though.’ Antonius’ eyes glinted, reminding Fabiola of a snake which was about to strike. ‘I’d love to finish this, but Caesar will think it strange if his deputy isn’t there to greet him.’ He stepped away, giving Fabiola an unpleasant stare. ‘Scaevola can wrap up things for me. Permanently.’
The fugitivarius pressed forward, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. ‘Now?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Not here, you fool,’ Antonius snapped. ‘Half of Rome is watching. Later.’
Scaevola nodded sullenly and stepped back.
Fabiola took the opportunity to dart into the press of people a few steps away.
They let her go, which was even more frightening.
Chapter XX: The Search
‘Sure you don’t want to come with us?’ asked Sabinus. He jingled his purse. ‘We’ve got money to burn!’
The other legionaries cheered. On the last day of Caesar’s celebrations, he had awarded every single one of his foot soldiers the staggering sum of five thousand denarii. Even the poor had benefited from the dictator’s largesse, receiving wheat, olive oil and one hundred denarii each. The legionaries’ bonus was more than they’d each earn in a lifetime’s service with the legions, and royally repaid their dogged loyalty to him. Suddenly the frequent periods of hardship and death seemed worthwhile, and now, the next day, the men couldn’t wait to blow some of their riches. The triumphs had ended the night before, and all legionaries were off duty for a week.
The honour guard had been granted the surprise of an early discharge from the army. This was, Caesar had said, thanks to their outstanding contributions to his cause. Consequently, they were even more eager than the rest of the soldiers to rejoice. Dressed in just their belted tunics and caligae, Romulus’ comrades were in search of wine, women and song. He felt differently. After all the marching, the adulation and the excesses of the previous ten days, he wanted a break. While his early release meant that he had all the time in the world, it was time to look for Fabiola, and if he got the chance, Gemellus.
‘Well?’ demanded the optio from the Twenty-Eighth. ‘Make up your mind.’
There was an impatient rumble of agreement from the rest. They had walked together from their camp on the Campus Martius as far as the first major crossroads inside the city walls. Straight ahead lay the Forum, while on each side were streets leading to the Capitoline and Viminal Hills. The smell of cooking sausages and garlic filled the afternoon air, and innkeepers shouted to encourage passers-by into their dingy, open-fronted establishments. Kohl-eyed prostitutes beckoned from the doorways that led to the cramped insulae above the shops. There was temptation everywhere for the newly enriched soldiers and they weren’t going to wait long.
Romulus shook his head. ‘There’s some business I need to take care of.’
‘Come on,’ Sabinus urged. ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’
‘No.’
‘Why so mysterious?’ asked Sabinus, his brow wrinkling.
‘I’ll tell you another time,’ replied Romulus tersely. Without realising it, he touched the sheathed pugio on his belt. If his military haircut and russet tunic weren’t enough, it was a giveaway sign that he was a soldier.
Sharp-eyed, Sabinus noticed the movement. ‘Want me to tag along?’
Romulus gave him a brief smile. ‘No thanks.’
‘You’re your own master.’ Sabinus stepped away. The group was already drifting off, and he would have difficulty finding them if he got separated. ‘You know where to look if you need us. That big inn by the Forum Boarium.’
Romulus raised his hand in farewell, wondering where he should start his search for Fabiola. He’d put off thinking about it until now. Remembering her in Alexandria helped. She’d been well dressed, and her mere presence there hinted at a relationship with a senior army officer. Romulus had wondered at the time if it was Caesar, but discovered since that, unlike some of his officers, his general didn’t take women on campaign. That left a host of other nobles, many of whom might not even live in Rome. Even if they did, how would he find Fabiola among them? Unless he wanted a flogging – or worse – he couldn’t as an ordinary soldier go about asking personal questions regarding their mistresses. Romulus began to despair before he’d even started. Stop it, he thought. Think. He stood for a moment, letting the crowd push by. While Caesar’s triumphs might have ended, the festivities had not, and the streets were even more packed than ever. The legionaries weren’t the only ones in search of a good time. Unbidden, an image of the b
rothel outside which the fight had taken place came to mind. What had it been called? Romulus racked his brains. The Lupanar, that was it.
Disgust filled him at the idea that Fabiola might still be a prostitute. Tarquinius had said that she’d left the brothel, though, and he couldn’t think of a better place to start. He pulled at the arm of a passing urchin. ‘Where’s the Lupanar?’
The filthy child gaped, then recovered his poise. ‘No need to go that far, sir.’ He pointed at the nearest doorway, where a half-naked girl of no more than sixteen stood, touching herself in an attempt to look seductive. ‘My sister. She’s clean. Only costs ten sestertii. If she doesn’t take your fancy, there are others inside.’
Romulus glanced over. In the shadows behind the child-woman lurked an old man in a grubby robe. Seeing Romulus stare, he whispered in her ear. She slipped down the top of her robe and lasciviously caressed her tiny breasts. Romulus felt sick. At least the women he’d had in the previous few days had been willing. ‘I want the Lupanar,’ he said, striding off.
Promising every kind of pleasure, the dark-haired boy kept pace with Romulus, doing his best while his master watched.
As soon as the old man was out of sight, Romulus produced a sestertius. ‘Well?’ he asked.
The other’s thin face lit up. The silver coin was far more than the paltry amount he’d get for guiding customers towards the nearby doorway. ‘It’s up that lane,’ he offered eagerly. ‘Take the second right and then the first left.’
Romulus flipped him the sestertius and walked off, ignoring the urchin’s promises of more information. Shrugging, the boy pocketed his reward and returned to his post. His directions were accurate, though, and it didn’t take Romulus long to reach a narrow street dominated by an arched doorway with a painted, erect penis on either side. Outside stood a number of doormen, their swords and clubs in plain view. The sight stopped Romulus in his tracks. Old memories surged back. His flight from the inn with Brennus. The Gaul offering to pay for a prostitute for him. Their collision at the brothel’s entrance with a drunk, red-haired noble whose arrogant attitude had sparked the fight. Deciding to make a run for it. Hearing the shouts of ‘Murder’ behind them as they ran. Gods, thought Romulus, how my life has changed since that night. For the better. A feeling of calm acceptance, which he’d never allowed to emerge before, settled over him. He was back in Rome, a free man. His anger at Tarquinius faded away; his old guilt about Brennus suddenly felt weaker too. The Gaul had walked the path of his destiny willingly, and it was not for Romulus to stand in the way of that.
Romulus took a step towards the Lupanar. Fabiola probably wasn’t working there any longer, but someone would know where she’d gone. He’d soon track her down. How might his sister have changed? Romulus wondered excitedly. What would be her reaction to him? Deep in thought and with his reactions slowed by ten days of drinking, he didn’t really take in the large party of unshaven heavies strolling along just in front of him.
The doormen in front of the Lupanar did, however. ‘Look lively, boys,’ shouted one, an enormous shaven-headed man with gold bands around his wrists. ‘Trouble!’
Romulus heard the familiar sound of gladii leaving their scabbards. Startled, he looked up. Armed with axes and clubs as well as swords, the thugs were charging headlong at the brothel’s entrance. Rather than stand back or retreat, the guards drew their own weapons and spread out in a defensive arc around the doorway. His heart pounding, Romulus turned and fled back down the alleyway. Who knew what was going on, but this was not his quarrel. Besides, he had only a pugio to defend himself. When he judged it safe, he stopped and looked back. Thanks to the permanent semi-darkness which existed in all narrow streets, he could see only a roiling mass of figures moving backward and forwards. From the blood-curdling yells and screams, men were being seriously injured or killed.
‘Should have fucked my sister,’ said a piping voice behind him. ‘You’d be finished by now, and looking for your friends.’
Romulus turned to find the skinny urchin who’d given him directions nonchalantly eating an apple. His smug expression spoke volumes. ‘Did you know there was trouble here?’ Romulus demanded, taking a step forward. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Hades below, I could have been killed.’
‘I did try,’ answered the boy, looking scared. ‘You weren’t interested.’
Romulus remembered the offers of more information and relaxed. He wasn’t going to pick a fight with a scrawny child who owed him nothing. ‘True enough,’ he said gruffly, eyeing the brawl again. ‘So what’s going on there?’ Silence. Looking down, Romulus saw an outstretched hand.
‘Nothing free in this city, sir,’ said the urchin with a cheeky grin.
Romulus tossed him another sestertius.
The response was instant. ‘It’s some kind of feud between the Lupanar and another brothel. Quite a few men have been killed. Although it’s been going on for months, things have been quiet recently. Until today, that is.’
‘What’s it about?’
The boy shrugged. ‘Not sure. Want to try my sister now?’
‘No,’ Romulus snapped, frustrated that his search had ended before it had even begun. Where else could he go? Nothing came to mind, and he decided to rejoin Sabinus and the others. He could always return to the Lupanar in the morning. ‘I need a drink,’ he muttered.
‘The best inn in Rome is very close,’ volunteered the urchin. ‘Want me to take you there?’
Romulus smiled. He liked the boy’s spirit. Clad in rags, and no doubt half-starved, he was still obviously resourceful. ‘No. But I’d say you can take me a shorter way to the Forum Boarium than retracing my steps, eh?’
‘Of course! Two sestertii.’
Romulus chuckled. ‘Quite the businessman, aren’t you? Don’t push your luck, though. I’ve already paid you five times more than I needed to.’
This produced a serious nod. ‘One sestertius it is,’ said the urchin, proffering a grubby paw.
‘When we get there,’ Romulus warned.
Laughing, they shook hands. At once the boy darted off, leading Romulus through a confusion of alleys which joined the Capitoline Hill to the Palatine. During the recent celebrations, Romulus had had no time to explore the city, and of course the triumphs had taken place on the largest thoroughfares. It made his journey now all the more poignant. These were the type of streets on which he’d grown up. No more than ten paces wide, their unpaved surfaces covered in rubbish and waste, and with three-and four-storey buildings on both sides blocking out all light apart from a narrow band of sky high above. Open-fronted shops sold everything from bread to vegetables to wine, their goods sprawling out on to the street. There were potters, smiths, carpenters, barbers and every other profession under the sun. Inns, brothels and money-changers’ premises were situated side by side, each one with its attendant begging leper or limbless cripple. Rows of shuttered windows overhead belonged to the cramped insulae, or flats, in which most citizens lived.
While he wasn’t familiar with their exact location, Romulus could remember running errands for Gemellus through similar quarters. The memory of his former owner brought a stab of anger. Where could he be? Romulus scowled. Was there any point going to the house where he’d grown up? Probably not, but at least it would be a place to start. Right now, though, the thought of meeting Sabinus and his comrades was far more appealing.
It was then that Romulus walked past a nondescript opening between two cenaculae, or apartment blocks. Something made him go back to take a second look. About fifty paces in, and surrounded by derelict houses, was a temple he’d never seen before.
Sensing his customer stop, the urchin came scurrying back, his bare feet silent on the dirt. ‘Nearly there, mister.’ He tugged at Romulus’ arm. ‘It’s not that way.’
‘Which deity is that dedicated to?’
The boy shivered. ‘Orcus.’
The god of the underworld. Romulus smiled thinly. Where better to make an offering that might help hi
m find Gemellus? It had to be worth a quick visit. He was half a dozen strides into the alleyway before his guide could react.
‘Sir! What about the inn?’
‘I won’t be long,’ Romulus replied over his shoulder. ‘Wait outside for me.’
Grim-faced, the urchin obeyed. While the stained stone altar in front of the shrine might terrify him, he wasn’t going to miss out on the promised sestertius.
Romulus walked up the steps to the main entrance, past the usual seedy-looking soothsayers, vendors of food and trinkets and men selling little squares of lead sheet. Stopping by one of these last, he bought a piece of the heavy grey metal. Romulus leaned against a pillar and used his knife tip to scratch on it a curse upon Gemellus. Plenty of other worshippers were doing the same, or paying hovering scribes to do so on their behalf. Once more, Romulus was glad he could write. This matter was deeply private to him and he had no wish to share it with anyone. He looked again at his words. ‘Gemellus: one day, I will kill you, very slowly.’ It was what he’d silently mouthed as the merchant had left him in the ludus. Satisfied, Romulus folded the square and headed inside.
A robed acolyte guided him to the main chamber, a long narrow affair filled with devotees. There were separate rooms available for more private visits, but Romulus had no need of them. After so long away from Rome, the chance of being recognised was slim to none. He took his place in the queue which was wending its way towards the large fireplace at the back of the room. Upon reaching it, each supplicant bowed their heads, said a prayer and tossed their offering into the flames. High on the wall above, overlooking all, was a circular depiction of the god similar to the one on the portico outside. Romulus glanced at Orcus’ dark-eyed, bearded face, whose hair consisted of a mass of snakes. He shuddered. The image was intended to strike fear into his heart, and it worked.
He continued to shuffle forward to the fire, however. The desire for revenge burned stronger than his dread, just as it did in the hearts of the other people present. Romulus studied the faces he could see, wondering what suffering or wrongdoing had brought them here. There was a good cross-section of society in the large chamber. He could see shopkeepers, plain citizens, slaves and soldiers like himself, even an occasional nobleman or -woman. Romulus smiled, feeling his self-belief grow. No one was unique: they all had a grudge to settle. Reaching the front of the queue, he was stopped by a short, wide-faced priestess with long brown hair tied up behind her head. Like all her companions, she was dressed in a simple grey robe. She was quite plain, but Romulus was struck by her deep green eyes. He watched as she raked the fire using a long iron poker, pushing the heaped metal squares deeper into the blaze.
