by Ben Kane
Inside, half a dozen prostitutes were washing and talking animatedly with each other. Conversation stopped when they saw the newcomers.
'This is Fabiola,' Pompeia announced. 'Girl I was telling you about.'
The majority nodded in a friendly enough manner and resumed chatting, glancing over occasionally. Pompeia stripped naked, indicating that Fabiola do the same. The redhead was full-bodied and curvaceous, her breasts larger than any the girl had seen before. Fabiola stared with fascination at Pompeia's bush of auburn pubic hair. Her milk-white skin contrasted sharply with the tall Nubian in the circular bath, who moved over so the two friends could enter and sit down.
Fabiola sat bolt upright in the warm water, smiling nervously.
Pompeia saw how ill at ease she was. 'Relax! We 're all family here and we all look out for each other. The only rule is that you never try and steal another woman's regular.'
For a good hour, Fabiola concentrated hard as Pompeia lectured her on the subjects of personal hygiene, the herbs to drink that prevented pregnancy, and how to make interesting conversation with a man. Every so often one of the others would chip in. Pompeia talked completely without embarrassment, and eventually Fabiola began to feel more at ease.
'Some men just want to lie in your arms and fall asleep.'
'Who cares as long as they pay?' interjected the Nubian, to shrieks of amusement.
'And then your twentieth customer arrives,' intoned another. 'A soldier returning from years on campaign. The bastards always want to go at it like Priapus himself!'
The women roared with laughter.
'At the Lupanar, it's rare to see more than two or three men a night,' said Pompeia reassuringly. 'One of the perks of working in an expensive brothel. But you have to learn to be an amazing lover.'
Claudia groaned loudly. 'Performer, more like.'
Pompeia smiled in acknowledgement. 'No man must ever leave unsatisfied, or you'll get a name for being frigid.'
'And Jovina will be at your throat before the customer is out the door,' said a plump, black-haired girl.
There was a chorus of agreement from those listening.
Pompeia began to explain various sexual positions and techniques to Fabiola, and the girl's eyes widened. It seemed that Jovina had only described a small number to her.
'Use my mouth and tongue?' Fabiola screwed up her face. 'Like that?'
'The Lupanar's signature act. Men love it. So get good at it quickly,' replied Pompeia in a serious voice. 'No whores in Rome are as good as we are.'
'Make sure he is clean first,' advised the Nubian with a wink.
'Washing him can be part of your technique.'
'Sounds revolting.'
'Better get used to the idea, my child.' Pompeia took Fabiola's hand. 'Your body is no longer your own. The Lupanar owns us completely.'
Fabiola met the other's gaze with some difficulty. 'It is a lot to take in.' She would have no choice about who paid for her time and someone like Gemellus might be her first customer. Fabiola instantly decided that sex would be her job and nothing else. A way to survive. It was the brutal reality of her new profession. She thought of Romulus training as a gladiator, risking his life with little or no chance of escape. If this new life was a success, she would be able to buy his freedom one day. It was up to her.
'You're clever and beautiful.' Pompeia grinned slyly. 'Learn to pleasure a man well and you could nab a nice old senator.'
'With a house on the Palatine Hill!' added Claudia.
Fabiola nodded firmly.
The redhead smiled and squeezed her hand.
'Tell me everything I need to know.'
Pompeia resumed Fabiola's education with more details of the physical act. This time the thirteen-year-old paid even more attention.
At last Pompeia lay back in the water, luxuriating in the heat. 'That's enough for one morning,' she said, closing her eyes. 'Get cleaned up. Jovina will want you available soon.'
Fabiola's heart quickened, but she obeyed.
Soon after, Pompeia took her to try on the linen robe again. She turned the young girl round in front of a bronze mirror, then wove some flowers through her thick black hair.
'Just need a hint of perfume.' She plucked a tiny glass phial from inside her dress and handed it to Fabiola. 'This will be delicate enough.'
Fabiola lifted the bottle to her nose. 'Lovely.'
'Rose-water. A Greek sells it in the market. I'll take you there soon. Dab some on your neck and hands.'
Fabiola obeyed, enjoying the beautiful smell.
'Worth every last sestertius.'
'I'm sorry!' She had applied a large amount without even thinking.
'Don't worry. You can look out for me when I need help,' said Pompeia warmly. 'Time to meet the customers. Jovina will be getting impatient.'
Fabiola took a deep breath. There was little point in prolonging the inevitable. She followed Pompeia down the corridor, head held high.
Chapter VIII: A Close Call
Rome, 56 BC
Tarquinius tossed a copper coin at the stallholder and turned away, tearing at the crust of the small loaf. It was early afternoon and the Etruscan had not eaten since dawn. Although his stomach grumbled for more, the fresh bread would suffice until later. Tarquinius had more on his mind than hunger. Finding Caelius. He had only been in the city for a week, and frustratingly there had been no sign of his former master at all. It seemed that nobody knew of a middle-aged, red-haired noble with a bad temper. Tarquinius' daily sacrifices had been equally unhelpful in revealing Caelius' whereabouts. It was the nature of haruspicy to be obscure from time to time and by now he was used to it. Without any guidance, plain footwork through the busy streets would have to do.
The Forum Romanum was as good a place as any to wait and watch. The most important open space in the city, it was thronged with citizens from sunrise until sunset every day. Here was the Senate, the centre of the democracy that had taken control of Italy after crushing the Etruscans' civilisation. Here were row upon row of shops in the basilicae where countless lawyers, scribes, merchants and bankers vied for business. The air was filled with shouts and cries as each competed with his neighbours. Limbless cripples held up begging cups, hoping for alms while moneylenders sat at coin-laden tables nearby. Rolls of parchment by their feet detailed the unfortunates who were in their power. Hard-faced armed men lounged behind them: security against theft and debt collectors rolled into one.
Finishing the loaf, Tarquinius pushed his way through the crowds, working his way towards the steps up to the temple of Castor. It was a good vantage point. His eyes constantly scrutinised the faces of those passing by. The haruspex was an expert at being unobtrusive, which was exactly what he wanted. And if noticed, Tarquinius appeared very unremarkable. A slight figure with long blond hair, he was wearing a typical thigh-length Roman tunic; sturdy sandals clad his dusty feet. Over one shoulder hung his pack, containing a few clothes and the golden-headed lituus. A cloak concealed the Etruscan battleaxe hanging on his back.
Tarquinius had discovered long ago that it drew attention – of the wrong kind. The small pouch hanging from a leather thong around his neck contained his two most valuable possessions: the ancient map and the ruby. The haruspex reached inside his tunic and rubbed the huge jewel absentmindedly, a comforting gesture he made when thinking.
At the foot of the imposing carved steps to the shrine was a group of soothsayers wearing distinctive blunt-peaked hats and long robes. Their kind were to be found everywhere in Rome, feeding on people's superstitions and desires. Tarquinius often found himself sitting near such men, partly so he could smile at their fraudulent claims and partly because it comforted him to see an art practised that he himself seldom did in public. If he was near enough, it was possible for him to divine from the fraudsters' sacrifices, a habit that amused Tarquinius greatly.
The Etruscan's mind ranged back to the last time he had seen his mentor, fourteen years before. Incredibly, Olenus
had been at peace with his destiny, content that his knowledge had been safely passed on. It had been much more difficult for Tarquinius, who had battled with himself all the way to the latifundium, the liver and other artefacts weighing him down. Only his love and respect for Olenus had prevented Tarquinius from climbing back up the mountain to fight Rufus Caelius and the legionaries. But it would have been wrong to have interfered. One of the cornerstones of the old haruspex' teaching had been that each man's fate was his own.
Tarquinius knew now that the whole experience had been part of Olenus' final lesson to him. Returning two days later to prepare a funeral pyre for the man he had loved as a father had changed him for ever. It had made him utterly determined to carry out Olenus' wishes to the letter. He was the last Etruscan haruspex.
On his final, grief-stricken return from the mountain, Tarquinius had prised the ruby from the hilt of the ancient sword and buried the weapon and the liver in a grove near Caelius' villa. This was partly because he preferred to fight with an Etruscan battleaxe and partly because the fine blade would have attracted too much attention. He was sure that Olenus would have understood. The gem had been worn against his heart ever since.
In deep gloom, he filled a pack and said goodbye to his mother, knowing he would never see her again. Fulvia understood instantly when he mentioned that Olenus had predicted this road for him; nearby his father was lying in a drunken stupor. The young man kissed Sergius' brow and whispered in his ear, 'The Etruscans will not be forgotten.' The sleeping figure rolled over, smiling gently. It lifted Tarquinius' spirits as he walked along the dusty track that led to the nearest road.
A good place to start, Rome had drawn him south. Tarquinius had never visited the capital before and its great buildings did not fail to impress him. He was immediately drawn to the great temple of Jupiter, where he witnessed the priests as they emerged from a reading of the Etruscan libri. The young haruspex burned with rage while watching the Roman augurs pronounce their interpretation of the winds and clouds that day. And it was incorrect. The sacred books stolen from Etruscan cities were in the keeping of charlatans. It crossed his mind to steal the libri, but there was little point. Where would he take them? Copies had already been made and stored elsewhere and if he were caught, the lictores would sew Tarquinius in a sack and drop him in the Tiber.
In the event a week in the city had been enough. The Etruscan had not known anyone there and lodgings were filthy and expensive. Slightly at a loss, Tarquinius headed south on the Via Appia. Ten miles from the city, he paused by a roadside well to slake his thirst. A group of legionaries were resting under some trees, their javelins and shields stacked nearby. Soldiers were a common sight on the roads, marching to join their units, being sent on engineering duties or heading to war. Despite his training, Tarquinius still struggled not to hate their very existence and what they stood for. It was such legionaries who had crushed the Etruscans centuries before. But his emotions were well hidden as he leaned back against a thick trunk, chewing on a piece of bread and cheese.
Seeing Tarquinius' wiry build and the axe he had unslung from his back, the centurion strolled up and asked him to enlist. Rome was always on the lookout for men who could fight. With a smile, the Etruscan had complied. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to join the force which had been responsible for the subjugation of his people. He had been expecting it.
After two months of hard training, the legions took Tarquinius to Asia Minor and the third war between Rome and Mithridates, the King of Pontus. There the general Lucullus, a former right-hand man of Sulla's, had been fighting for three years. By the time the haruspex arrived, Lucullus had successfully vanquished Mithridates, forcing the king into neighbouring Armenia, where he licked his wounds under the protection of its ruler, Tigranes. Mithridates was still a free man. And as Rome knew from previous bitter experience, this meant the conflict was not over.
Rebuffing all offers of friendship, Tigranes refused to hand over Mithridates, which made him fair game in the general's eyes. Without hesitation, Lucullus led Tarquinius and his legions into Armenia. Battle was joined near the capital city of Tigranocerta. Although vastly outnumbered, Lucullus had crushed the Armenian forces, winning one of the most stunning victories in the Republic's history. Tens of thousands of the enemy were killed. Tarquinius fought with great distinction, helping to turn the enemy flank at a crucial stage in the battle. Using the Roman gladius when in formation, the young soldier switched to his battleaxe when pursuing the Armenians from the field. Nearby legionaries watched in awe as its iron blades flashed through the air, carving men in two. Tarquinius' reward was a promotion to tesserarius, the junior officer in charge of the guard in each century.
He smiled at the memory. Once Tarquinius' centurion had realised that the new tesserarius was capable of filling in the complex duty rosters on his own, he had offloaded large amounts of paperwork on to him. Soon Tarquinius was requisitioning supplies, calculating the men's pay and ordering new equipment.
Meanwhile, Mithridates had escaped yet again. Returning to Pontus, he raised new armies and defeated the local Roman forces there. Bogged down in Armenia, where he was now fighting a guerrilla war, Lucullus had been powerless to respond. To make matters worse, mutiny broke out among his own troops, who by now had been on campaign with him for six long years. Like all legionaries, they had endured harsh discipline and constant danger for little pay. During another long, cold winter under canvas, rumours arose about the generous treatment that Pompey's veterans had received. Despite the efforts of Tarquinius and the other officers, they swept through the legions. And fuelling the discontent was an arrogant and disgruntled young patrician called Clodius Pulcher. He was Lucullus' brother-in-law and Tarquinius had disliked him on sight. Sending his troublesome relation packing, Lucullus dragged his mutinous army to Pontus by sheer force of will, but was no longer able to trust it in combat against Mithridates.
While there was little actual resistance left in the area, no complete victory had been obtained. In situations like this, Rome was merciless.
Pompey Magnus was immediately dispatched to the rescue with the largest force ever sent to the east. Upon the newcomer's arrival, Tarquinius watched with the rest of the soldiers as Pompey stripped Lucullus of both his command and his legions, reducing him to a private citizen. It was a demeaning end for the able general.
Pompey swiftly mopped up the last pockets of resistance, driving Mithridates into the hills, a broken man. Armenia became a new Roman province, Tigranes a mere client king. Peace was restored to Asia Minor and the wily Pompey took all the credit. By this time, Tarquinius had spent four years in the legions. It had been a surprise to find that military life suited him. The camaraderie, the foreign languages and cultures, even the fighting provided the young Etruscan with much more than his former life on the latifundium. Or so he had thought. Since joining up, he had avoided the few chances to perform divinations that had come along, even choosing not to study the weather patterns.
First he had tried to explain it as a way of keeping a low profile, but finally Tarquinius realised that it had all been an attempt to forget his grief, to pretend that Olenus had not gone for ever. This revelation had made the Etruscan desert the army, determined to rediscover himself. Leaving his unit without permission was a crime punishable by death, and had instantly made Tarquinius a fugitive. This knowledge did not trouble him. As long as he did not draw attention to himself, the haruspex knew that he could pass virtually anywhere without being detected. His disappearance would cause little fuss: he had been just another of the rank and file in Rome's legions.
And so Tarquinius visited the temples of nearby Lydia, seeking evidence of links with the Rasenna, his people. He found little more than the occasional shrine to Tinia and a few crumbling tombs. This was enough to prove that the Etruscans had lived there, but not whether they had previously come from somewhere else. Unable to draw himself away from the Mediterranean yet, the young haruspex journeyed
to Rhodes and encountered the great philosopher Posidonius, whose opinion on the ascendancy of Rome had interested him greatly. Visits to North Africa and the ruins of Carthage followed, then Hispania and Gaul. Always he took great care to avoid military camps and the men who populated them. Rome sent its soldiers all over the known world, and even in far-flung outposts it was remotely possible he might encounter someone who knew him as a deserter.
