The Road to Rome (9 page)

Fifty paces until they struck. Time began to move in a blur. A wheel on one chariot struck a rock, sending it up at a crazy angle and throwing its driver free. It overturned, dragging its horses into those of another team. Both chariots careered crazily to a halt and a hoarse cheer went up from the legionaries. But the rest were still closing in fast. Behind Romulus, a man cursed their bad luck, Caesar and all the gods. Another began to wail with fear. Anxious to release his javelin, Petronius shifted from foot to foot beside Romulus.

Twenty-five paces, thought Romulus. He could clearly see the stubble on the face of the charioteer heading for them. Good killing distance for their
pila
, and their only chance to make some dent in the enemy numbers. He looked to the centurion, whose mouth was opening to give the order. Before he could give it, a piece of lead took the officer in the centre of the forehead. Released by a slinger as a parting shot, it was as clean a kill as Romulus had ever seen. The crack with which the small piece of metal struck left no doubt as to its lethality. The centurion dropped soundlessly, without giving the order to release.

Romulus’ head spun frantically, searching for the
optio
, but he was at the rear with the
tesserarius
, ensuring that no one tried to flee.

All around them, the other centuries were throwing their javelins. Tall as a man, their long wooden shafts were topped by a pyramidal iron tip which could punch through shields and armour to kill. In graceful clouds, they climbed into the air, falling among the charioteers in a shower of lethal points. Many enemy warriors were struck down, losing control of their teams of horses, which panicked and collided with one another.
The three which would reach Romulus and his comrades were unaffected, though, and the charioteers grinned with satisfaction.

Behind them ran thousands of peltasts and infantry.

Of Caesar there was no sign.

The Lupanar, Rome

J
ovina did not hear what Scaevola said to Fabiola. Sensing an opportunity, though, the madam darted forward to her side. ‘This is the new owner,’ she declared with a flash of real malice. ‘We’re to sign the deal later today.’

Old bitch, thought Fabiola in alarm. She had already made up her mind to sell.

Scaevola’s eyebrows rose sharply. ‘It’s this whore I should be talking to then, eh?’

Confusion mixed with the triumph on Jovina’s face. ‘You know Fabiola?’

‘Let’s say that we have a certain amount of . . . shared history.’ He sniggered. ‘Don’t we, gorgeous?’

His men leered, all unshaven jaws, rotten teeth and broken noses.

Jovina took the opportunity to fade into the background.

Fabiola’s cheeks flushed with impotent rage while Sextus and Vettius bristled in front of her. Laying restraining hands on their arms, she considered her options. It was six to two, or six to three if she threw herself into the fray as well. The odds were not insurmountable, but it didn’t feel like the right time to have it out with Scaevola. She had bigger fish to fry than this malevolent bastard, which was also the reason she wouldn’t walk away.

Fabiola found the
fugitivarius
studying her face for signs of fear.

She would give him nothing. Go on the offensive, Fabiola thought. Get him on the back foot. ‘You piece of filth,’ she hissed. ‘Get off my property. Now.’

Scaevola didn’t move a step. ‘Don’t have forty slaves backing you up
now, eh?’ he chuckled. ‘Jovina’s not telling stories then. Good. Ruining your whorehouse instead of hers will be even more satisfying.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Fabiola replied boldly, ignoring her pounding heart. She remembered Scaevola’s previous leanings, one of the reasons he had pursued her so hard. ‘Proven followers of Pompey are liable to be executed.’

‘Pompey?’ The
fugitivarius
looked shocked. ‘I’m no supporter of his.’ Smiling at Fabiola’s surprise, he winked. ‘In fact, me and my lads do some work for the Master of the Horse. Discreet stuff, you understand.’

Fabiola’s hopes sank. An expert at deception, of course Scaevola would have changed sides. She could imagine what type of jobs Marcus Antonius had him doing. Murdering innocent men in alleyways sprang to mind.

‘I’ve thought about you plenty since we last met,’ said Scaevola, licking his lips. ‘Asking the gods that our paths might cross one day. Now my prayers have been answered! I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream.’ He rubbed at his crotch and his men laughed.

Fabiola felt sick, and her courage frayed. Nearly being raped by the
fugitivarius
was one of her most terrible memories.

The provocation got to Sextus at last, and he pulled out his sword. Vettius raised his club in support, but their actions were mimicked at once by Scaevola’s five men. With a sudden burst of energy, Jovina darted to safety, peering around the corner of the hallway like a wizened, frightened child.

‘Wait,’ Fabiola ordered her men. ‘Not yet.’ Help me Mithras, she thought. What can we do?

The two sides glared at each other, the room seeming much smaller with so many drawn weapons. It was an impasse. Positioned by the doorway, Vettius and Sextus were preventing the
fugitivarius
and his thugs from leaving, but attacking them would result in fatalities on both sides.

Scaevola grinned. ‘We can wait here all day. Or would you rather fight now?’

‘Vettius? I’m coming in.’

Fabiola had never been so glad to hear Benignus’ voice in her life.

Ducking his head to enter, Benignus eased his bulk through the arched entrance. His eyes narrowed, and he immediately moved to stand beside Sextus and Vettius. In one hand he gripped a metal-studded club like
Vettius’, in the other a broad-bladed dagger. Fabiola felt a surge of relief. The two doormen dwarfed their opponents, and despite his disability, Sextus was a skilled fighter.

‘We can take them if we have to,’ Fabiola muttered. Scaevola and his heavies looked much less confident now. At least half of them would die if a fight started, an outcome which only a fool would look forward to. ‘Give the dogs a chance to leave and they will. Make towards Jovina, but stay together.’

Fabiola’s men obeyed, keeping her safely to their rear as they moved around the side of the room. The others’ instinctive response was to shuffle nearer the door. The manoeuvres took place in silence, yet the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

Scaevola muttered an order and his gang retreated outside. He waited until they were gone, showing Fabiola that he was not scared to face her followers alone. ‘We’ll resume this matter later,’ he purred, making the mocking bow that she hated. Bellowing at his men to hurry, the
fugitivarius
was gone.

Fabiola let herself sag back against the wall.

‘He’s a nasty piece of work,’ said Jovina from the hallway. She pursed her lips. ‘Dangerous.’

‘Damn you! Sextus and I have better reason to know that than anyone else here,’ Fabiola shouted. ‘You were quick enough to tell him that I was the new owner too. We haven’t even drawn up a bill of sale!’

Jovina made a show of innocence which failed miserably.

‘I should just walk out,’ Fabiola cried. ‘Leave you in the shit as you deserve!’

‘No!’ Tears sprang to Jovina’s rheumy eyes, and she raised her joined hands in supplication. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I am an old woman. He frightens me so much.’

Fabiola bit down on her anger. The madam was completely untrustworthy, but there was no need to act prematurely. Jovina would be of use while she got to know her way around the Lupanar. After thirty years in charge, she was a mine of potential information. She just needed to be kept on a short leash. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Fabiola said brightly. ‘Better to pay half the amount we agreed up front, and the rest in twelve months. Depending on how well business has picked up, of course.’

Jovina looked unhappy, but she shrank before Fabiola’s stony gaze. There would be few – if any – offers to better her former slave’s one. ‘Very well,’ she simpered. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’

‘Good. Write down what we’ve agreed then.’

Meekly, the madam shuffled to her desk and found a strip of clean parchment. Dipping a stylus into a glass inkpot, she scrawled a few lines on it before adding a signature at the bottom. She waited in silence as Fabiola countersigned it. ‘Satisfied?’ she ventured.

Scanning the completed document again, Fabiola slipped it into her purse. There was little doubt in her mind that Jovina had written all that she needed to take ownership of the brothel, but she was no expert in legal terminology. Everything had to be correct with this purchase. ‘I’ll have my lawyer check it over,’ she replied curtly. ‘If it meets with his approval, the money will be delivered by the following day.’

Expecting nothing less, Jovina nodded.

‘I’ll take immediate possession,’ Fabiola announced. ‘Do you want to stay on?’

The madam began to answer, but another heavy bout of coughing prevented her.

‘Will your health allow it?’

Wiping sputum from her lips, Jovina composed herself. ‘The gods will decide,’ she said. ‘With your permission, I’ll stay. For a little while.’

Fabiola could see that Jovina was trying to preserve her own dignity. She would allow her that. ‘Very well,’ she answered, all business now. Indicating that Sextus should check the situation outside, Fabiola stalked to the door. ‘I’ll be back in two days, the gods willing.’

Jovina bobbed her head gratefully.

‘It’s safe, Mistress,’ called Sextus.

With Vettius taking up the rear, Fabiola emerged on to the busy street. There was no sign of Scaevola or his men. She scanned the faces of all those in sight, but, to her relief, recognised none. Once more this was just another small thoroughfare in Rome. Why bother having me followed? Fabiola thought, weariness filling her. The bastard knows that I’ll be here every day in future. Old fear swamped her anew. How was she going to defend the Lupanar against Scaevola’s thugs, let alone turn the fortunes of the business around? That was before the
fugitivarius
tried to take his
revenge on her. To Fabiola’s shame, her next inclination was to walk away from the brothel and never return. Jovina would be powerless to stop her, and Scaevola would never dare attack her at Brutus’ house. In a heartbeat, all her problems would disappear.

At that prospect, Fabiola’s spirits plunged into the depths. This opportunity had seemed perfect – heaven sent, even. She glanced at the sky, willing a sign to appear. Nothing did. Maybe new dealings with the Lupanar were just not meant to be. Contemplating the climb-down made Fabiola feel like a complete coward, but she was terrified of Scaevola. What else could she do?

It was then that she stumbled on the uneven ground, and nearly fell.

Solicitous as ever, Sextus caught her with a strong grip. Fabiola muttered her thanks and they exchanged a look. The slave saw her fear. ‘Don’t worry, Mistress,’ he muttered. ‘Think of all the dangers that we’ve survived since you first met that whoreson. The gods will not desert us now.’

Fabiola managed a smile. Sextus was right, she thought. Their lives
had
been charmed. Taking strength from his words, she headed in the direction of her
domus
. The first thing to deal with would be Brutus’ reaction to her recent purchase. Even if he approved, Fabiola did not think that he would want his legionaries standing guard outside a brothel. Her lover was in the business of winning back popularity for Caesar, not losing it. Yet she had to have protection against Scaevola. Secundus, the veteran who’d repeatedly saved her life, came to mind, but Fabiola discarded that idea at once. With their pensions and land grants honoured, he and his men were now loyal to Caesar.

Apart from Sextus and the doormen, Fabiola was on her own again. She made a snap decision. It was time to call on every possible means of help, and not just the aid of Jupiter and Mithras, her favourite deities. There were darker gods than those in Rome. I will make an offering to Orcus, Fabiola decided. Fear clutched her at the very idea. Despite all her past troubles, she had steered away from worshipping the god of the underworld.

Now it was time.

Brutus had not returned when they reached the
domus
, which pleased Fabiola. She had still not composed herself totally and didn’t want to have
to try. Too much was going on in her mind. She could put up a blank façade for the servants and the legionaries on guard, but hadn’t banked on Docilosa’s ability to read her like a book. Since becoming friends in the Lupanar, they had been through much together. Short, plain and similar in age to Fabiola’s mother, the former domestic slave was now her closest confidante. Fabiola wasn’t that surprised therefore when Docilosa noticed her low mood.

‘What’s happened?’ she cried. Rather than greeting Vettius warmly, she glared at him. ‘What’s he doing here? Did that hag do something?’ Docilosa was the only one who knew where Fabiola and Sextus had gone.

‘I’m fine,’ Fabiola protested. ‘And Jovina’s ill. Close to Hades, I’d say.’

Vettius nodded in pleased agreement.