by Ben Kane
To shouts of approval, the bearded Parthian chanted a deep, resonant series of words.
'He is calling on the gods to receive the offering,' muttered Tarquinius. 'It symbolises victory over the Republic. Shows Parthia is not to be trifled with.'
The smith's hand began to tremble from holding the heavy weight. Suddenly a fat bead of gold tipped out, falling into one of Crassus' eyes. The globe ruptured, and a bellow of pain like Romulus had never heard split the air. A mixture of clear fluid and blood spurted on to the general's cheek.
Crassus' other eye held a look of utter terror. Urine formed in a puddle between his feet.
The priest intoned a last prayer and made an abrupt motion with his right hand.
An inarticulate moan escaped Crassus' lips as the gold poured down in a stream of molten fire. With a sizzling noise audible to all, the boiling liquid emptied into his gaping mouth, silencing the general for ever. His body shuddered and spasmed with the unbelievable agony of the ordeal. Steam rose in little spirals as flesh reached cooking point. Only the tightness of the bonds prevented Crassus from breaking free. At last the precious metal reached heart and lungs, burning the vital organs into stasis.
He slumped and hung limply from the frame.
Crassus was dead.
The watching Parthians went into a frenzy. Nothing could be heard except the clamouring shouts, clanging bells and thudding drumbeats.
Many soldiers vomited at the sight. Others had closed their eyes rather than witness the savage execution. A few shed tears. Romulus swore silently that whatever the cost, he would escape.
When the crowd had quietened, the priest stabbed a finger at Crassus' body, yelling at the prisoners. At his words, there was again silence.
The spectacle was not over.
Tarquinius leaned forward. 'He is offering us a choice.'
The soldiers nearby pricked their ears.
'What kind of choice?' growled Brennus.
'A cross each.' The Etruscan indicated the officers. 'Or the fire, if we prefer.'
'Is that it?' spat Felix. 'I'd sooner die fighting.' He tugged at his neck rope.
Angry shouts of agreement rang out.
'There is another option.'
Seeing Tarquinius translating his words, the priest smiled and pointed eastwards with his dagger.
Everyone turned to the Etruscan.
'We can join the Parthian army and fight their enemies.'
'Wage war for them?' Felix was incredulous.
'Same job. Different masters,' said Brennus. After the horror of the executions, he had recovered his poise. 'Where?'
'The far borders of their empire.'
'To the east,' the big Gaul added calmly.
Tarquinius nodded.
Romulus was also unperturbed but the legionaries were terrified.
'Can we trust them?' Felix scowled as guards prodded Crassus' limp body with spears.
'Make your own choice.' Tarquinius raised his eyebrows. 'They have left us alive this long and shown us Crassus' death as an example.' He turned to face the men behind and shouted out their choices.
When Tarquinius had finished, the bearded priest called to him again.
'We must choose now!' cried the Etruscan. 'If you want crucifixion, raise your right hand!'
Not one hand went up.
'Do you want to die like Crassus?'
No reaction.
Tarquinius paused. Sweat was rolling down his face, but he was utterly controlled as he delivered the ultimatum.
Romulus frowned. The Etruscan was almost too calm.
'Join the Parthian army?'
Silence filled the air. Even the crucified officers' groans were inaudible. The crowd watched with bated breath.
Romulus raised his eyebrows at Brennus.
The Gaul raised his right hand. 'It is the only sensible choice,' he said. 'This way we stay alive.' And I will meet my destiny.
He lifted an arm in the air and Tarquinius did the same.
Around them a sea of hands rose as the other prisoners slowly accepted their fate. It was unlikely that their comrades in the stockades would argue with their decision.
The priest nodded with satisfaction.
Ten thousand legionaries would march east.
Chapter XXVIII: Manumission
Rome, autumn 53 BC
It had taken a while for Fabiola to decide on the best method of dealing with Pompeia. There had been time to think while she washed her bloody bedding and Vettius disposed of the snake 's body down the sewer. After that, acting normally and secure in the knowledge that Vettius was staying within earshot, Fabiola had calmly joined the group of women in the baths.
Pompeia's face had first turned grey with shock; then it had flushed with anger. But with so many others present, she could do nothing. There had been an uneasy silence as the other prostitutes watched the two enemies. Feigning complete ignorance, Fabiola filled the air with bright conversation about the forthcoming public holiday, which usually saw even more business than usual. Gradually the atmosphere relaxed.
As Fabiola suspected, Pompeia was not to be put off. This was exactly what she wanted. The redhead soon made her excuses, climbed out of the warm water and went to the madam. With Benignus eavesdropping, Fabiola quickly knew that Pompeia had managed to wheedle permission from Jovina to leave the brothel later. Apparently she wanted to consult a soothsayer about her best client. Of course she really wanted to know whether it was still possible to kill Fabiola, perhaps even buy more poison. The black-haired girl smiled grimly at that thought. It seemed that after three failed attempts at murder, the gods were indeed watching over her. She could only pray that they were doing the same for Romulus.
When the solution finally came to her, Fabiola creased her face in apparent pain. Complaining of a violent stomach ache, she left the bathing area and retired to her room. Several noisy visits to the toilet later, everyone within earshot knew that Fabiola was suffering from a bout of food poisoning. Shortly after that, her face touched with a dusting of white lead, Fabiola had begged one of the other women to inform Jovina that she might not be able to work that night.
The hours before sunset were generally quiet ones. Fabiola knelt alone before her altar to Jupiter, praying for it to remain so. She needed an opportunity to get out of the brothel without being seen. This was the most risky part of her endeavour. Her alibi would rest on the fact that everyone thought she was in her room, as sick as a dog.
The gods were smiling on Fabiola still.
Peace fell on the Lupanar as the prostitutes rested and slept in their cells. Not a single customer appeared that afternoon either and Jovina retired to her room for a rare nap. None of the bored women in the anteroom beside reception was paying attention as Pompeia left, accompanied by Vettius. A few moments later, Fabiola stole past, wearing a long cloak with the hood raised. Benignus remained by the entrance, nervously turning his club in his hands. Both doormen wanted to be part of Fabiola's plan, but one had to stay behind and Vettius had refused to do so. The proof of the redhead's treachery had enraged him so much that he insisted on being her chaperon when she left.
It was a simple matter for Fabiola to follow the pair from a distance.
Once the divination was over, Vettius knew where she would be waiting.
Still musing over the favourable prediction given her by the soothsayer, Pompeia barely had time to protest before she found herself in an alleyway, ten steps off the narrow street that led back towards the brothel. Twice her size, Vettius was well used to manhandling rich clients out of the brothel without hurting them.
Immediately the noise of oxen pulling carts and traders touting for business seemed further away. The poor amount of light that had been on offer fell to a dim twilight that made it hard to see. Broken pottery and rotten vegetables covered the rough ground, mixed with human waste, dirty straw and spent charcoal from the braziers that kept the miserable insulae warm. A mangy dog that was nosing about for food barke
d once and ran off, startled by the intrusion.
Thinking Vettius wanted his way with her, Pompeia turned coy. 'Never knew you were interested, big man.' She flashed a practised smile. 'Here 's not the place, though. Come to my room tomorrow morning after I've finished work. You'll not regret it.'
The doorman did not reply. With a blank face, he pushed the redhead deeper into the alley. Always useful in street fights, a sheathed gladius hung from a strap over his right shoulder.
'Can't wait? Typical man.' Without protesting further, Pompeia came to a halt and began to shrug off her robe. 'Come on, then. It's cleaner here.'
Something flew through the air to land at her feet.
Even in the poor light, it was recognisable as a snake 's head. Pompeia screamed and jumped back, her mouth open wide with shock.
The look on her former friend's face told Fabiola all she needed to know. She stepped out of the shadows, raising Vettius' dagger threateningly.
Pompeia's features turned ashen. This was no easy coupling to keep the doorman sweet. She backed away, her feet unsteady on rubbish and shards of terracotta. 'Please,' she begged. 'Don't hurt me.'
'Why not?' Fabiola barked. 'You've tried to do the same to me. Three times. And I've done nothing to you.'
Fat tears of self-pity formed in the corners of Pompeia's eyes. 'You take all the best customers,' she whimpered.
'There are plenty to go around,' Fabiola hissed. 'And I'm only doing it for my brother.'
'He's long dead,' replied Pompeia viciously. 'The augur swore it.' Despite the magnitude of the situation, vitriol still filled her.
Knowing the remark could well be true, rage overwhelmed Fabiola. Without even thinking, her dagger whipped up and pricked the redhead's throat. It was very gratifying to see terror in Pompeia's eyes. Yet Fabiola was still loath to kill her. She breathed deeply, calming herself. There had to be another way.
Pompeia sensed a chance. 'Kill me and you'll be executed,' she spat. 'You know what Jovina's like.'
She did not realise it, but the comment was her death sentence.
The account of a prostitute who had tried to murder the old madam years before was well known. First she had been tortured with hot irons, and then blinded. Finally, the unfortunate woman had been crucified on the Campus Martius while everyone in the Lupanar had been forced to watch. The story kept all the slaves in line. Almost all.
Fabiola knew now that there was no other way. Pompeia was so twisted with malice that she could never be trusted. The whole plan would have to be followed. Looking down at the mangled snake 's head, she hardened her heart. There would have been no mercy for her.
'Fool,' Fabiola announced quietly. 'Jovina thinks I am in bed with an upset stomach.'
Pompeia's mouth opened and closed.
'And Vettius did his best to fight off the collegia thugs, but there 's only so much one man can do against eight others.'
Panic-stricken, the redhead's eyes turned to the doorman.
Drawing the gladius, Vettius shrugged eloquently, drawing its edge along his left forearm. Blood welled from the long cut and he smiled at the pain. 'The madam will need evidence that I was attacked,' he said mildly. 'I'll walk into a couple of pillars on the way back just to make sure.'
Realising that her fate was sealed, Pompeia screamed. It was a futile gesture. There was no chance that anyone would come to her aid. Few citizens were brave enough to intervene in street disputes, let alone venture into tiny alleys. She moved uncertainly a few steps forward, and then back.
There was no escape.
Vettius was blocking one end of the alleyway; Fabiola stood at the other. Both had set, determined stares.
The redhead opened her mouth to cry out again. It was the last thing she did.
Darting in, Fabiola slashed Pompeia's throat wide open with her dagger. She stepped back quickly as blood poured from the gaping wound. With a startled expression distorting her pale features, Pompeia slumped silently to the dirt and rolled to lie face down between Fabiola and the huge doorman. Red liquid pooled around her.
'My brother is alive.' Clinging to that hope, Fabiola spat on the corpse. This is how Romulus must have felt in the arena, she thought. Kill or be killed. It was as simple as that.
Vettius was filled with awe. He had always known that Fabiola was clever and beautiful, but here was graphic evidence of her ruthlessness. She was not just a helpless woman who needed his protection. Here was someone to follow: someone to lead him. He was brought back to reality by Fabiola's voice.
'Let me bind that before you lose too much blood.' Producing a piece of cloth, Fabiola wound it tightly around Vettius' arm.
He smiled his thanks as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. There was an unspoken bond between them now.
'Wait here for a while. I need time to get back without being noticed.'
Vettius nodded.
'Make plenty of noise when you get inside,' ordered Fabiola. 'I'll be able to get up from my sickbed, hear you tell Jovina what happened to poor Pompeia.'
'Yes, Mistress.'
It was only later that Fabiola remembered how the doorman had addressed her.
He was her follower now, rather than Jovina's.
There had been little that Jovina could say when Vettius staggered into the brothel, covered in blood. His story had been most compelling and, wary of more trouble, the madam immediately banned all the prostitutes from leaving until further notice.
Fabiola's satisfaction at ridding herself of Pompeia and her threats did not last for long. The redhead's barbed comment about Romulus being dead had sunk deeper than she had realised and worry began to consume Fabiola day and night. Her prayers to Jupiter grew even more fervent. Thus far, the news from the east had been quite encouraging: the city was full of tales about minor skirmishes and the riches extorted from cities that Crassus' army had passed. Fabiola tried to use this to calm her fears for Romulus. With no large battles taking place, the risk of many men being killed was surely low. But everyone in Rome knew that Crassus would not rest with mere intimidation. He was bent on one thing: military success.
And it was common knowledge that his target was Parthia.
Fabiola felt sick when she thought about it.
Things got even worse when word reached Rome of the crushing defeat at Carrhae. Longinus had led the Eighth across the Euphrates to safety, his rank senior enough to mean that his account could be relied upon. Publius and twenty thousand soldiers had been slain, ten thousand taken prisoner and seven eagles lost. Adding insult to injury, Crassus was now a helpless captive in Seleucia. The triumvirate had been reduced to two.
While the news would have pleased Pompey and Caesar, it was devastating for Fabiola. Romulus was surely among the dead. Even if he wasn't, she would never see him again, lost to the savage east. Since entering the Lupanar, she had hidden all emotion from everyone, but the awful certainty of her brother's fate broke something inside Fabiola.
For weeks she managed to conceal the sadness from everyone, even Brutus. She laughed and smiled, entertaining clients with her customary panache while the grief inside her knew no bounds. Rather than diminishing as time passed, it grew: a deep inconsolable gloom. Their mother was long dead, a nameless victim of the salt mines, and now Romulus had joined her. It became harder and harder for Fabiola to remain composed. The clever young woman was losing the will to carry on.
