The Forgotten Legion tflc-1

by Ben Kane

  Fabiola's ears pricked up. 'Sold?'

  'Sometimes a customer likes a girl so much that he buys her. Mostly they go off to a life of luxury. Villa in Pompeii or the like.' Pompeia looked wistful. 'Unlucky ones are got rid of when they are sick. Or too old.'

  'So are those who disobey Jovina,' said the blonde ominously.

  'Where to?'

  'One of the cheaper brothels. To someone needing cheap labour.'

  'Salt mines, latifundia, you know.' Claudia scowled. 'Got to remain popular and stay beautiful.'

  Fabiola thought of her mother and shuddered.

  Mistaking the reaction for one of fear, Pompeia patted her arm. 'Don't worry! Jovina won't be selling a prize catch like you.'

  'Do some girls gain their freedom?'

  Pompeia smiled. 'Jovina lets us keep a tiny amount of the fees for our services. Regular clients will give you some money too. Save every last sestertius. Isn't that right?'

  Claudia nodded vigorously, powdering her face with chalk and white lead.

  'A little more — that's not pale enough. Don't forget a bit of antimony on your eyebrows.' Pompeia turned back to Fabiola. 'Keep on Jovina's good side. In a few years she might let you buy out of here.'

  Claudia snorted. 'The old witch only says that to keep us happy. You know that. Can you name anyone who has bought their manumission since we arrived?'

  Pompeia's face dropped, and Fabiola's heart went out to her. Life in the Lupanar was obviously not secure. She would have to work hard to survive.

  The redhead saw her staring at the huge array of bottles and jars on the table. 'It's makeup. Lotions.'

  'Can I try some on?'

  'You're far too beautiful.'

  'But you're both using it.'

  Pompeia laughed. 'We 've been here for a long time! Have to keep looking good. You're as fresh as a flower.'

  'Not even some ochre?'

  'Perhaps a little. On your lips. Nothing else.'

  Unsure what men who visited the Lupanar would want, Fabiola gazed into the big mirror.

  'The clients will love you.' Pompeia gestured expansively as if talking to an audience. 'You might need some lead in a while, but for now you're the Vestal Virgin.'

  'Pompeia's right.' Claudia's tone was slightly more friendly. 'Understatement's better. For you.' She laughed, indicating her own generous curves.

  Fabiola smiled.

  'We're forgetting ourselves. Must be nearly sundown!' Suddenly Pompeia was all business. 'Have a good soak and an early night. It's time for us to work. Customers will start arriving soon.'

  Fabiola threw her new friend a grateful look. 'Thank you.'

  'I'll come and fetch you in the morning. We can chat about how to make men groan and beg for more!'

  'Or cry out!'

  Pompeia rolled her eyes. 'That's Claudia's speciality.'

  Fabiola left them to it and walked down the corridor, rubbing the linen fabric with secret pleasure. To her relief, she was the only person in the tiled bathing area apart from an old female slave, who silently provided olive oil and a strigil.

  The experience was far better than she had imagined. Gemellus had only allowed slaves to wash in the back courtyard with a bucket of cold water. Being able to lie back in a heated pool, admiring colourful paintings through the steam, seemed like total bliss. Fabiola fantasised about a time when talented craftsmen would paint the walls of her villa with similar depictions of Neptune and mythological marine creatures.

  Clean and relaxed, Fabiola retired to her room. She lay on the bedcovers, staring at flickering shadows cast by the torch. The grief at being parted from her family had abated a little with the discovery of a new friend and the Lupanar's soothing luxury. Pompeia would be a good ally, someone she might be able to trust. And she had something to aim for: to become the best prostitute in the brothel. With influential politicians and nobles as customers here, there was real power to be had by being good at her new profession. It gave her strength to know that rich men paying for sex might prove to be at her mercy.

  Fabiola stayed awake for some time, trying to imagine what intercourse would be like, but she couldn't. Rest would be better than worrying over something beyond her control. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. There were no nightmares.

  Pompeia arrived as promised early the next morning. Hearing the gentle knock, Fabiola threw back the covers and padded to the door, running a hand through her hair.

  'Still sleeping? You weren't working half the night!' There were dark rings under Pompeia's eyes, but the vivacious redhead was full of energy. 'Let's go and wash. There's a lot you need to learn.'

  Fabiola flushed with embarrassment at that prospect, but picked up a drying sheet and followed Pompeia down the corridor. A waft of warm, moist air accompanied by the noise of talking women met them at the door.

  It felt decadent.

  Suddenly an image of Romulus came to mind. The thought hit hard.

  Seeing her brother being dragged away was something Fabiola doubted she could ever forget. All I have to do today is sit in a heated bath and learn how to pleasure a man, while Romulus learns to fight for his life. Guilt swept over her.

  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 hat
e 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.