by Ben Kane
Knowing Pompeia would not have the same personal reasons to obtain information, Fabiola finally asked if she could take on the lanista as a customer. The redhead refused. Friendship in the Lupanar only went so far.
'He gives good tips.' Pompeia's tone was whingeing. 'What do you need more clients for anyway?'
'You know why. This means a lot to me.'
Pompeia pouted, but did not answer.
She had tried almost everything. 'Will money help?' Fabiola asked desperately.
There was instant interest. 'How much?'
She threw caution to the wind. 'Twenty-five thousand sestertii.'
Pompeia's eyes widened. It was far more than she had imagined, half a lifetime's tips. Fabiola must be even better than she'd thought. 'Memor might know nothing,' she said with a twinge of guilt.
Fabiola closed her eyes. Jupiter guide me, she thought. It only took a moment. 'He does. I know it.'
Pompeia flushed. 'If you're sure . . .'
Fabiola smiled at the price, which was less than half of her savings. She did not care if finding Romulus used up every last coin she had.
But the lanista had proved a hard nut to crack. All the usual wiles to make a customer talk had failed miserably. Pompeia had not been exaggerating. Memor was easily irritated and Fabiola quickly learned not to ask too many questions. Coupling with the scarred old man was most unpleasant; something about his casual brutality left her cold. But the new client took to Fabiola with gusto. A month went by with a virtually wordless visit every single week. She began to think that her carefully saved money had been wasted. When Memor had not appeared for a while it had been a relief.
Then he had returned. Intense preparation for a big fight had left no time for relaxation. As soon as it was over, Memor had returned to his favourite girl.
It was now or never. She had made his pleasure last longer than ever before. Every time he thrust into her mouth, desperate to come, Fabiola had slowed down the rhythm, teasing him with tongue and fingers. She knew the lanista could not take much more.
'Master?'
Memor's eyes opened with a start. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing, Master.' She held his penis tightly with one hand, prolonging the moment. 'Ever had a fighter called Romulus in your school?' She took him into her mouth again.
He gasped. 'Who?'
'Romulus. My cousin, Master.'
'Troublesome son of a whore!' Memor pushed her head down.
Hope flared inside. A short time later, Fabiola paused again.
'Is he still in the ludus?'
'Little bastard's long gone,' said Memor, momentarily distracted. 'He helped my best gladiator kill an important noble about two years back.'
Fabiola's pulse quickened.
'That Gaul was worth a fortune,' muttered Memor.
At the time, the comment passed her by.
She began stroking him up and down gently and the lanista moaned. 'What happened to them, Master?'
'Rumour was they joined Crassus' army.' He jerked upright and gripped Fabiola's hair. The look on his scarred face was terrifying. 'Unless you know something?'
Fabiola opened her eyes wide. 'I never liked him, Master. He was a bully.' She bent her head to finish the job and Memor fell back, sighing with satisfaction.
Hope. There was still hope in Fabiola's heart.
Chapter XXIII: Ariamnes
Parthia, summer 53 BC
Next day came far too soon for the soldiers of Crassus' army. The dawn sky rapidly changed to a clear blue, and the temperature began to soar. It would be another scorching march. Crassus had risen before sunrise, woken by a troubling nightmare about the unhappy episode with the bull's heart. He knew that the story had spread like wildfire through the legions and a distinct feeling of unease had been palpable since among the men. This had been increased by equally fast moving reports that the eagle of the Sixth had reversed as it had left the Euphrates. Even senior officers now seemed to be affected. Only Publius and the Nabataean continued to show confidence in him.
But driven by his burning urge to become the leading force in Rome and to crush Pompey and Caesar, Crassus remained convinced he would be victorious. The previous day's losses had been minor and a few hundred horse archers were certainly nothing to worry about. After all, had he not conquered Spartacus and his army? The slaves had numbered more than eighty thousand. Today, all his veteran legions had to face were a few thousand savages. Crassus laughed out loud. In a few short weeks Seleucia would fall, proving his vision. His leadership.
Desiring more details of Parthia's wealth – soon to be his wealth – Crassus had summoned Ariamnes to his side. The chieftain found him eating dates on a couch under gently moving palm leaves fanned by slaves.
The Nabataean bowed deeply. 'Your Excellency wished to see me?'
'Repeat what you said about Seleucia's riches.' Crassus was never bored by the story.
Again Ariamnes bowed low. 'Most is found in the palaces of King Orodes, the wealthiest man in Parthia. Many chambers have walls covered with beaten silver or huge silk banners. The fountains are filled with precious stones and there are countless gold statues with opals and rubies for eyes.' He paused for effect. 'The treasure store alone is said to fill a dozen rooms.'
Crassus smiled. 'Rome will never forget the triumphal parade from this campaign!'
Ariamnes was about to reply when the pair saw Longinus approaching. The legate was followed closely by a swarthy figure in leather armour. A curved sword hung from the man's belt and a small round shield from one arm. The fine layer of dust covering him from head to toe could not conceal the grey sheen of exhaustion on his skin.
Obviously agitated, Longinus came to a halt and saluted.
Crassus curled his lip with distaste, Ariamnes swiftly copying the gesture.
'One of our patrols has just brought him in, sir. A messenger from Artavasdes,' said Longinus, looking daggers at the Nabataean. 'He 's ridden day and night to reach us.'
Crassus frowned. 'Not an impostor then?'
'He carries a document stamped with the royal seal.'
'What does the Armenian want now?' snapped Crassus.
'The king has been attacked by a large Parthian force north of here. Even if Artavasdes wished to join us now, he could not.'
Ariamnes' eyes darted to Crassus.
'Continue.' The general's voice was ice cold.
'Artavasdes calls on us for aid.' Wary of continuing, Longinus paused.
'There is more?'
'He still wants us to march on Parthia through Armenia, sir.'
'That dog wants me to retreat? And help him?' roared Crassus. 'When Seleucia's riches lie at my feet?'
'It's a safer route, sir,' tried the legate, but it was obvious his commander had no intention of helping the client king.
Crassus' face darkened.
'May I offer my humble opinion?' interjected Ariamnes smoothly.
Bodies stiff with tension, both men turned to him.
'Excellency, Orodes must have assumed that you would march through the mountains. He has sent his army north, but they have encountered Artavasdes instead.'
'That would explain the small numbers of Parthians yesterday,' beamed Crassus.
'A delaying tactic and nothing more,' Ariamnes continued. 'And all that stands between us and the capital.'
Longinus was unconvinced. 'What proof have you?'
'Patience, Legate,' Crassus said calmly. 'Let him speak.'
The Nabataean threw a sidelong glance at Longinus. 'Yesterday my scouts outflanked the horse archers and reconnoitred for miles to the southeast. There was no evidence of more Parthian forces. Orodes must have taken his men north.'
'Why did you not tell us before?' said Longinus acidly. 'This smells of treachery.'
Ariamnes looked hurt. 'But I am myself offering to lead another search.'
Crassus nodded approvingly.
The Nabataean noticed Longinus' fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword.
'We will return at the slightest sign of enemy activity. But I suspect the route to Seleucia is already clear.' Ariamnes pointedly ignored the legate. 'Would that please Your Excellency?'
A huge smile spread across Crassus' face. 'And the scouts found no signs of the Parthians?'
'None at all, Excellency.'
Longinus was unable to contain himself. 'Do not trust this snake, sir! I know it's a trap. Why not return to the Euphrates and join Artavasdes? With over ten thousand cavalry, we would smash any opposition.'
'Silence!' screamed Crassus. 'Are you in league with that damned Armenian?'
'Of course not,' muttered Longinus, stunned by Crassus' monumental arrogance.
'Then shut your mouth. Unless you want to end your career in the ranks.'
Longinus struggled to contain his rage. With a crisp salute, he turned to leave but suddenly bent towards Ariamnes. 'Prove treacherous and I will crucify you myself,' he whispered before marching away.
'So. Today we shall sweep aside these gnats who have been annoying my men,' declared Crassus.
The Nabataean smiled.
Shortly afterwards, Romulus and Tarquinius watched as the long column of Nabataean cavalry rode eastwards.
'He's just letting them all go?'
'We will not see them again,' said the Etruscan, peering at the fine layer of cloud positioned in the sky high above the departing horsemen.
Romulus shook his head in disbelief.
'I predicted that one.' Brennus was sharpening the longsword again. 'The general is a fool.'
'Ariamnes is very persuasive and simply told Crassus what he wanted to hear,' observed the Etruscan.
'We have only two thousand cavalry left now,' said Romulus. 'How many Parthian horsemen will there be?'
'Up to five times that number.'
Romulus frowned, trying to calculate the number of arrows that many archers could loose.
Tarquinius checked there was nobody else within earshot. 'Thousands will lose their lives in the coming battle.'
The Gaul's face darkened. 'What about us?'
'So many spirits were leaving this existence . . .' The Etruscan seemed unusually troubled. 'It is difficult to be precise,' he admitted. 'But I feel sure that two of us will survive, because I have seen our friendship endure past the bloodshed and killing.'
Brennus prepared himself for the worst. Let me die bravely, he thought. With honour, protecting Romulus and Tarquinius. So I can meet Brac and my uncle in paradise with no shame. Tell Liath that this time I did not run when my loved ones needed me. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, struggling to quell the guilt that still ruled him.
Romulus scowled. How could any man see the spirits of the dead? Obviously plenty of men would die fighting the Parthians, but to know exactly which ones? It was not possible. He looked up to find Tarquinius' eyes on him, his gaze piercing. Unnerved, Romulus found himself unable to meet it. Perhaps it was his turn to die. His stomach lurched and he quickly threw up a prayer to Jupiter to protect them all.
'And the rest of the cohort?' asked the big warrior.
Tarquinius was reluctant to answer but Brennus persisted.
Silence.
The Gaul blanched. 'Every single one?'
'Virtually all.'
'Sometimes you see too much,' Brennus said, shivering. He stared at the unsuspecting mercenaries preparing for another day in this furnace. It was chilling to imagine them all being killed, and it reminded him strongly of the last time he had seen his fellow Allobroge warriors readying themselves for battle.
As always after the Etruscan's predictions, images of Fabiola and his mother filled Romulus' mind. He longed to ask about them, but dared not. If Tarquinius revealed something dark or evil, the young man was not sure he could refuse to believe it as well. Their fragile memories were sacred, even intrinsic to his survival. They helped him to continue marching into this wilderness.
The sun climbed fast from the horizon, bringing its heat to bear with renewed vengeance. The Nabataean cavalry had not been gone for long before trumpets sounded to break camp. Discipline was still strong and the army was soon ready to move. At the front stood the irregular cohorts, followed by five legions and the baggage train. Two legions now protected the rear, leaving the Gaulish and Iberian cavalry on the flanks. It was a thin protective screen for the number of infantry.
Bassius listened carefully to the last series of commands. 'Time to go. I want twenty miles from you today.'
Following the Nabataeans' hoof prints, two troops of Gauls galloped off in front.
The soldiers marched after them into the empty desert. The horizon remained clear of enemy horsemen and their spirits rose. But as the hours passed without a single cloud to provide respite from the burning sun, the enemy was forgotten as the extreme heat again took its terrible toll on the footsore Romans. Many had drunk all their water the day before and, contrary to Crassus' opinion, the mules had been carrying enough for only some of the soldiers. As thirst levels increased, the rest had no option but to keep walking. The three friends sucked grimly on pebbles, hoarding the remaining liquid in their leather bags as if it was gold.
And then it seemed as if the gods had remembered Crassus' army. Half a dozen Gauls came riding back with news that there was a river ahead. The legions' speed almost doubled, and quickly they made out the typical desert haze that formed over water in the distance.
Patches of reeds on the banks were trampled flat as thirsty mercenaries tramped into the shallow rivulet. Men flopped down headlong in an effort to get cool. But Romulus and his comrades were not allowed long to fill their containers.
'Did I say stop? Or fall out? No!' Bassius roared. 'Keep marching! Bastards!'
Relishing the feeling on his weary muscles, Romulus splashed through the calf-high water. 'A rest would be good,' he muttered, careful not to let the centurion hear.
'Some chance!' Brennus drained his bag, stooping to fill it immediately. 'Drink as much as you can.'
'There'll be no rest for a while.' Tarquinius pointed ahead.
Romulus and the Gaul tore their attention from the refreshing liquid.
All the scouts were riding back at the gallop.
Romulus saw Brennus' hand reaching for his sword. Automatically he did the same, sweat forming on his brow.
The Gauls rushed past the mercenaries, heading directly to Crassus' position. Moments later the bucinae blared with a stridency the men had not heard before.
'Hear that? Enemy in sight! Double time!'
The cohort responded with as much urgency as they could muster, pounding up the river bank, each man hoping the Gauls were wrong.
For the rest of his days, Romulus would remember the sight that greeted him.
On a flat plain in the middle distance sat the Parthian army, a formation nearly a mile across. Their appearance distorted by the haze, thousands of men on horseback waited patiently for the Romans. Huge, brightly coloured banners swirled in the hot air, making them appear even more alien. The noise of pounding drums and clanging bells reached the legions as signallers relayed messages to and fro.
