The Road to Rome (47 page)

Romulus set to slicing open the lower part of Gemellus’ tunic. Lying like a slab of meat on the butchers’ block, the merchant did nothing to stop him. Only the movements of his chest and his piteous sobbing gave the lie that this was not a side of beef or pork. Off came Gemellus’ wet, stinking
licium
, his undergarment, revealing his wizened, unwashed manhood. Romulus laughed when he saw it. ‘Not much to lose, is it?’ he taunted. ‘I bet it’ll hurt all the same.’ Leaning forward, he grasped the shrunken bag below and pulled it tight to make the cut easier.

Gemellus’ throat opened and he began to wail anew.

Romulus’
pugio
was a hairsbreadth away when something made him stop. Turning his head, he saw the urchin observing him with an expression of absolute terror. Their eyes met, and Romulus was reminded of himself as a boy, witnessing people being robbed and injured on the streets of Rome. Abruptly he felt his senses return, and a wave of shame swamped him. What am I doing, Romulus thought, looking with disgust at Gemellus’ sagging flesh. Torturing an old man while a child watches? What have I become?

Wiping his dagger clean on Gemellus’ tunic, Romulus stood. ‘You’re not worth it,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Living in this shithole is punishment enough.’

Gemellus didn’t answer. Clutching alternately at his bleeding cheeks and his exposed privates, he lay motionless as Romulus sheathed his
pugio
.

‘Come on,’ Romulus said to the relieved-looking urchin. ‘Time to find that inn, and pay you.’

The boy came alive at the mention of money.

‘Are you hungry?’ Romulus asked, ushering him towards the street.

There was a vigorous nod.

‘Tell you what,’ Romulus said, keen to show that he wasn’t a complete
thug. ‘You’ve been a great help so far. I’ll throw in some food as well as the ten
sestertii
, all right?’

The urchin’s face split in a beaming smile. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Romulus grinned, ruffling his hair. Decent meals had been rare in his childhood too.

His little guide gave him a tentative smile in return, but abruptly his expression changed to one of alarm. ‘Look out!’ he cried.

Too late, Romulus began to turn. Something heavy smashed into the back of his head and stars exploded across his vision. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground, catching sight of Gemellus right behind him. Still half-naked, the bloody-faced merchant held a large lump of rubble in his hands. ‘Little bastard!’ he spat. ‘I should have had you crucified alongside the Nubian.’

Sprawled on the rough ground, Romulus tried to turn over, or to draw his dagger, but he couldn’t. All his strength had gone, and his mind wavered on the very edge of consciousness. His eyes closed, which was a great relief. He was vaguely aware of the urchin rushing at Gemellus, screaming for him to stop, but the cursing merchant slapped him away with ease. When the boy tried again, Gemellus smashed him across the face with the back of his hand. Sobbing, the urchin withdrew. A moment later, Romulus felt someone looming over him. With great effort, he rolled on to his back.

Leering triumphantly, Gemellus raised the piece of brick high. ‘I’m going to enjoy smashing in your skull,’ he said. Blood dripped from his wounds on to Romulus’ tunic. ‘Shame your sister’s not here to watch. Then I could fuck her afterwards.’

Impotent rage flooded through Romulus at the insult, but he was helpless to react. A mass of stabbing needles were radiating from the back of his head and he was seeing double. Clumsily he raised a hand, but like his other limbs, it seemed to belong to someone else. Unable to do more, Romulus sagged back down. After all I’ve been through, he thought wearily, this is the way I’m going to die. Should never have got Juba to teach me how to use a sword. At least he’d still be alive. Romulus’ remorse over the death of his friend triggered sheer resignation. He watched passively as Gemellus swung down with all his might.

This is my punishment, he thought.

Instead of crushing Romulus’ head like a rotten egg, though, Gemellus collapsed on top of him. The chunk of rubble fell from his slack fingers with a crash, and he went limp. Confused, Romulus lay there for several heartbeats. Gemellus did not move again, prompting him eventually to try and sit up. The merchant’s dead weight on top of him was far more than his nerveless fingers could shift, though. Even the tugging efforts of the urchin made little difference. Romulus closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep anyway.

A moment later, a deep, sonorous voice joined the boy’s piping tone. ‘Let me help.’

It sounded familiar, but Romulus didn’t know why. He felt Gemellus’ body being rolled off him. To his surprise, the back of the merchant’s ragged tunic was saturated with blood. Protruding from the middle of the red circle was the bone hilt of a knife. If Gemellus wasn’t already dead, he would be soon. A dull relief settled over Romulus, partly because his former master had received his just desserts, and partly because it had not been he who finished the job.

‘By all the gods, it is you,’ said the voice. ‘Both of you were in danger!’

Romulus looked up. Flanked by the urchin, Tarquinius was stooped over him. Utter amazement mixed with groggy understanding. ‘What are you doing here?’ he croaked with a leaden tongue.

Typically, the haruspex didn’t answer. Gently turning Romulus’ head so that he could assess his wound, he probed through the matted blood and hair with expert fingers.

Fresh agony flooded outwards from the area. ‘Jupiter, that hurts,’ Romulus protested.

‘Hold still.’

He obeyed, using the opportunity to focus on the cloaked haruspex. Apart from a caved-in cheek and a few more grey hairs, his friend had scarcely changed. Yes, Romulus thought, pleased by his instinctive reaction. That is what he is – my friend. I forgive him for what he did. At once he felt lighter, and his lips turned upwards in a pleased smile. ‘Is that your knife?’

There was a nod.

‘Thank you,’ Romulus muttered.

‘I was in a real hurry. Who knows what made me glance down this
alleyway,’ said Tarquinius, pressing down on Romulus’ skull here and there. ‘Thank all the gods I did.’

‘It’s good to see you.’

Tarquinius paused for a moment to regard him. ‘You’re sure?’

Romulus nodded, and then wished he hadn’t. His head felt like the drum on the rowing deck of a trireme. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Likewise.’ The haruspex grinned, taking years off his age. He wiped his bloody fingers on his roughly spun tunic. ‘Mithras and Fortuna are truly smiling on you today. I can’t feel any breaks. A day’s rest and you should be fine.’

Unanswered questions that Romulus had been carrying around for an age started to surface. ‘Why did you disappear in Alexandria? Who looked after you?’ he demanded. ‘Where have you been since?’

‘Later,’ replied Tarquinius, looking concerned. He got to his feet. ‘You’ll be all right on your own for a while, won’t you? This lad can accompany you back to your camp.’

Worry was a most uncommon emotion to see on the haruspex’ face. ‘What’s going on?’ Romulus asked. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘I didn’t want to bother you,’ Tarquinius muttered. ‘There’s trouble at the Lupanar.’

Surprised by Tarquinius’ awareness, Romulus shrugged. ‘I know. Nearly got mixed up in it myself. Who cares, though? It’s just one lot of thugs fighting another.’

‘It’s far more than that,’ said Tarquinius quietly.

Uncomprehending, Romulus stared at him.

‘Fabiola runs the Lupanar now.’

He could have hugged the haruspex. She was there? His sister was found? ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes,’ Tarquinius replied. ‘She’s inside too, and the ruffians attacking it won’t stop until they’ve killed her.’

Horror gripped Romulus. ‘How do you know?’

‘I heard them talking as they came up the street.’

Romulus cursed. If only he’d got there before the heavies. At least he’d have been inside then, and able to defend the brothel. He racked his brains to recall who’d been on the street. He’d seen no one else apart from the
thugs, but then Tarquinius was a master at remaining inconspicuous. ‘What were you doing there?’

Romulus had never seen the haruspex look sheepish before either. ‘Watching over Fabiola.’

‘Why?’

Now embarrassment wrestled its way on to Tarquinius’ face. ‘Trying to make sense of a dream, and to atone for what I did to you.’

Clambering to his feet, Romulus grabbed him in a bear hug. ‘Thank you.’

Never one for physical contact, Tarquinius patted him awkwardly. ‘This is no time for pleasantries,’ he said.

Romulus stepped back. ‘How many of the whoresons are there?’

‘I counted at least twenty, but there were more arriving.’

At once Romulus thought of his comrades. A dozen veteran legionaries would be the equal of more than twice that number of scum. Then he remembered that his friends were in civilian dress and without their swords. They were probably all drunk by now too. Panic swelled in his chest. ‘What should we do?’

‘I was going for help,’ Tarquinius revealed. ‘I know some ex-soldiers who live nearby. Followers of Mithras. They’ve no love for filth.’

‘Bring them as fast as you can,’ said Romulus. He beckoned to the urchin. ‘Can you take me back to the Lupanar? I’ll make it fifteen
sestertii
.’

The boy bobbed up and down with excitement. ‘Of course.’

Tarquinius frowned. ‘You’re in no fit state to fight.’

‘My sister needs me,’ Romulus replied fiercely. ‘Cerberus himself couldn’t stop me from doing what I can.’

The haruspex didn’t argue. Shrugging off his cloak, he unslung his double-headed axe. The alleyway’s dim light couldn’t entirely dampen the shine of its oiled blades. ‘Take this.’

‘Thank you.’ Romulus gripped the well-worn shaft, taking strength from its solidity. If necessary, he could use it as a crutch on the way to the Lupanar.

Standing over Gemellus’ body, they looked at each other for a long moment. There was so much they needed to talk about.

‘Go,’ ordered the haruspex. ‘The brothel’s walls are thick, but they had ladders too.’

Romulus closed his eyes, imagining the result of the thugs dropping unexpectedly from the roof space. ‘The gods grant you speed.’ Letting the urchin lead the way, he headed for the Lupanar.

Tarquinius hurried in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that his delay hadn’t cost Fabiola dearly.

I
ncluding herself, Fabiola had sixteen people left who could fight, but only ten of those were hired men. The rest were kitchen slaves, who by now looked terrified. The remainder weren’t so badly affected, although Fabiola had no idea how they would fight when it became clear defeat – and death – was imminent. She gave them all a short pep talk, promising more money to the guards, and manumission to the slaves if they fought well. This seemed to lift everyone’s spirits. It was all she had time for. The noises from above indicated that Scaevola’s thugs were already on the roof. Lifting the red clay tiles and gaining entry wouldn’t take long.

Fabiola had her men gather the prostitutes and take them to the courtyard, which was dominated by fruit trees and a fountain. They locked all the rooms as they passed by – anything to slow down their attackers. In the open-aired square, she positioned three gladiators by one exit and the two doormen at the other. A quick head count of the weeping, terrified women revealed that one was missing. Jovina. Before Vettius or Benignus could object, Fabiola darted up the dimly lit corridor. Although she had little love for the old madam, she felt a duty to protect her. She found Jovina by her desk in the reception, grim-faced and with a dagger at the ready.

‘Come to the courtyard,’ Fabiola cried. ‘It’s the best place to defend.’

‘I’m staying here,’ Jovina replied, setting her jaw. Along with her usual jewellery and heavy layer of makeup, she was wearing her finest dress. She looked like a tiny, determined sparrow about to defend its nest. ‘This is where I’ve spent more than half my life, and no sewer rat is going to make me run away.’

‘Please,’ Fabiola pleaded. ‘They’ll kill you.’

Jovina laughed knowingly. ‘And they won’t out there?’

Fabiola had no answer to that.

‘Go,’ Jovina ordered her, reversing their positions. ‘Die with Benignus and Vettius. They’re your men – have been since the first day you won them over. Just make sure one of them ends it for you before that brute Scaevola gets too close.’

Fabiola nodded. Bizarrely, tears were brimming in her eyes. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again,’ she whispered.

‘I doubt it,’ cackled the old madam, showing more life than she had for months. ‘After all I’ve done, Hades is the only place for me.’

‘And me,’ replied Fabiola, remembering how she’d slain Pompeia, a prostitute who’d tried to murder her. While her motive had been self-preservation, she had done it in cold blood, just as she had ordered the doormen to kill Jovina. Her decision about that had only been reversed because Antonius made their affair public. Surely that was as bad as anything the old madam might have done? Biting back a sob of guilt, Fabiola lifted a hand in farewell.