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 facade 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.
'Small loss she'll be,' shrugged Docilosa. She had as much reason as Fabiola, and more, to hate her former owner.
'The old crone has no fight left in her,' Fabiola went on, keen to relate her success. 'I forced her to sell me the Lupanar — on my terms.'
Docilosa's eyebrows shot up. 'Is that the best way to move forward? When you escaped that world, you never wanted to return to it.'
'This is different,' replied Fabiola, trying to sound convincing. 'I'm the owner now, not a whore. No one will be picking me out from the line.'
'The fools will try,' responded Docilosa tartly. 'You'll be the best-looking woman there.'
Fabiola smiled. 'In that case, they'll have Vettius and Benignus to deal with. And Sextus.' An image of the fugitivarius popped into her mind and her face fell. Over-amorous politicians and merchants were going to be the least of her worries.
'What's wrong, then?' Docilosa asked. 'You look scared.'
Fabiola's chin trembled. 'Somebody came into the brothel while I was there.'
'Who?' Docilosa demanded. 'Memor?'
Vettius growled low in his throat.
Fabiola shuddered. 'Not him.' The cold, scarred lanista had enjoyed her company on frequent occasions near the end of her time in the Lupanar. Of course the feeling had not been mutual; Memor's only purpose in her life had been as a source of information, a function he had ultimately fulfilled by revealing some of Romulus' story since the twins' traumatic parting. While coupling with the lanista had been unpleasant, it paled into insignificance beside what Scaevola would do to her. 'Someone far worse,' she whispered.
Docilosa's brow furrowed. Who could instil such fear in her normally indomitable mistress? She took her time, studying Fabiola's miserable face. 'Is it Scaevola?' she finally ventured.
Knowing nothing of what had gone on before, Vettius looked confused.
Unable to stop tears from welling in her eyes, Fabiola nodded. 'He knows I'm the Lupanar's new owner too.'
Scowling, Docilosa thought hard. 'How many copies of the bill of sale are there?'
'I'm no fool,' replied Fabiola. 'One, and I have it here.'
'Is it notarised yet?'
'Of course not.'
'Tear it up,' her servant crowed. 'Burn the damn thing, or throw it in the sewer. Without proof, Jovina hasn't a leg to stand on. The purchase will never have existed! Then you can stay here.' She waved at the legionaries lounging around the courtyard. 'Scaevola can't harm you inside these walls.'
Fabiola did not reply. She was stung by the abject misery in Vettius' eyes. If she didn't buy the brothel, his and Benignus' fate would again be uncertain. Leaving the doormen after her manumission had felt disloyal. Of course it had been because Jovina wouldn't sell them, but to do it a second time would feel like betrayal. It would also mean giving up her greatest desire — because of Scaevola. Fabiola's jaw set.
Docilosa read her emotions, and her face turned thunderous. 'You want to press on regardless? Why?'
'You don't understand,' answered Fabiola in a monotone. No one, not even Docilosa, could know of her plans to kill Caesar yet. 'The Lupanar is part of my future.'
Vettius was overjoyed, but Docilosa scowled. Fabiola's tears had gone, though, leaving only cold resolution on her face. Experience had taught her not to argue with her mistress at times like this. 'If you're sure,' she muttered.
'I am,' said Fabiola, squaring her shoulders. 'Tomorrow I will make a vow to Orcus. In return, I'll ask for Scaevola's death.'
Docilosa went a pale shade of grey. Such oaths were not lightly taken. Placing her thumb between the forefinger and index finger of her right hand, she made the sign against evil.
'I do not ask you to follow me in this,' said Fabiola, staring at her. 'If you wish to leave my employ, I will release you without prejudice.'
'No,' Docilosa replied firmly. 'If you're this determined, the gods must be watching. I'm in too.'
'Get me three pieces of lead then.' Prayers and curses to gods were often written on small square sheets of the grey metal and then folded up. Accompanied by coins and other offerings, thousands were thrown daily into temple fountains all over Rome by citizens in need of divine aid. 'You know where to go.'
Docilosa left without another word.
Fabiola dismissed Vettius a moment later, promising the delighted doorman that she would see him at the brothel soon. The moment she was alone, Fabiola fell into a deep reverie. Her curse on Scaevola would have to be carefully thought out. Malevolent deities such as Orcus were known for twisting vows and promises back on themselves. She had no wish to see the fugitivarius dead and then suffer some dreadful punishment as a result. A heavy covering of low-lying cloud the next dawn promised rain in plenty. The gods did not fail to deliver. By the time Fabiola was ready to leave, water was falling from the skies in torrents, drenching anyone foolish enough to venture outdoors. The open-air courtyard in the centre of the house soon resembled a swimming pool. Although it was early morning, the poor light made it feel like sunset. Thunder was grumbling overhead too, firing out occasional lightning bolts to illuminate the dull, grey streets. Summertime had vanished.
'You'll catch your death,' Docilosa protested as she helped Fabiola into a hooded military cloak commandeered from one of Brutus' legionaries. 'Or fall into the Tiber and drown.'
'Stop fussing,' said Fabiola, touched by her servant's concern.
Dressed similarly to Fabiola, Sextus was already set. Today he was armed to the teeth, wearing two daggers as well as his sword. Fabiola was not without protection herself. Under her cloak, a leather strap was slung over her left shoulder, and from it hung a plain but serviceable sheathed pugio. She was proficient in its use, having
